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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22373911">Vindex Reborn: The Whole World Blind</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/AwesomeJon/pseuds/AwesomeJon'>AwesomeJon</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Parahumans Series - Wildbow</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Apocalypse, Dominance, F/F, Free Will, Gen, Mind Control, Mind Games, Psychological Horror, Religious Imagery &amp; Symbolism, Romance, Submission, Trauma Bonding</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-01-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-04-28 13:56:04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>38,033</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22373911</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/AwesomeJon/pseuds/AwesomeJon</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>It was said to you in times of old, an eye for an eye...but I say to you now, leave the whole world blind!</p><p>How do you begin after a bad ending? Everything is going faster this time. It hurts more. A violent act takes Taylor's eye, and leaves her with clarity. Sophia tries to atone -- but how can you reach the person you love when they've given up?</p><p>Or is all this part of Taylor's plan? Is the trust so many put in her misplaced? Or only Sophia's?</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Taylor Hebert | Skitter | Weaver/Sophia Hess | Shadow Stalker</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>50</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em> YAMADA: What was it you saw in her, exactly? To put the question another way, what drew you to her, why…why did you choose to be her friend?  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> HESS: I wanted to make a better me.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> YAMADA: And why did you stop? It must have no longer been [GARBLED] you.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> HESS: Simple. I met a better me.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Excerpt, PRT survivor interview logs, Aphelion Event. Recovered from Earth Bet, 2020</em>
</p><p> </p><p>I walk away, leaving Hebert crying in a bathroom stall, holding her stomach. That gut shot was the finest I've been able to pull off in weeks. The training dummies I used to have have <em> nothing </em> on her. </p><p>Waiting for me is my ingenue, my fascination, my project. My muse. My reason, right now. Emma. I grin slyly at her. "She probably threw up already. I hit her real hard." </p><p>She laughs, cruelly, and looks me over. "She needs to binge, not purge. She doesn't have your figure."</p><p>I grin. "I know, right? Took work though. Work she won't put in." </p><p>We walk together, and Emma is as quick on the reply as usual. "At some point you're putting something in and getting nothing out. She's been there for a while." She looks at me, warmly and slyly. </p><p>"I know the feeling." I'm not <em> missing </em>the hint. Emma sure as fuck is though. I am not attracted to women. At all. Or to girls, if you want to get technical about it. </p><p>I'm attracted to like minds. To like deeds. To people like myself. I've heard the word "narcissism" batted around, and "sociopathy". I have high standards and I don't tolerate failure, that's all. </p><p>"So you wanna get dinner?" </p><p>I shake my head and look the little lost kitten directly in the eye. "I'm watching my figure." Then I walk away. I don't even look over my shoulder this time. The chase instinct has not kicked in. It never does. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Not much is known about the early life of Vindex. Detailed records existed, but were destroyed by the Undersiders prior to the quarantine of Brockton Bay. It is the belief of the Los Angeles office's premier Thinker that she was likely vain, sociopathic, desperate enough for approval to harm others in pursuit of it. This profile led us to consider Emma Barnes as a potential candidate, prior to the death of that Thinker at the hands of Vindex. By then it was clear that it no longer mattered who Vindex was, or why. She had sworn to "leave the whole world blind", and we would either find a way to stop her or be her victims. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Protectorate internal history of the Aphelion Event, recovered from the Los Angeles inlet, Earth Bet, 2021</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Taylor eventually stopped heaving after nothing came out. She hadn't eaten this morning, after all. The stress was killing her. Maybe Sophia would soon, and that would be easier? She wasn't sure. But there was a brutality present that hadn't been there before. It was scaring her. </p><p>She sat there for a moment and just cried, then quickly gathered herself and went on to world affairs before someone found her and told Emma she'd been making a scene again. She missed Emma deeply. And her mom. She missed people who gave a shit, and at this point she missed people who seemed to. It was enough to make Jack Slash seem like an appealing friend, except she didn't have anything he could possibly want. Her body and mind would just not trigger, no matter what she did. Or what they did. </p><p>Something had to give. She was excellent at plotting, and planning, and at biding her time, but nothing helped yet. All it did was build up an anger that could blot out the sun…</p><p>If only that anger could be transmuted into love. But love with no object was not so different from anger, was it? Her mother had confided this in her, before the accident. If she hadn't met Danny, she said… </p><p>She wondered if her mother might approve of her plan. After all, the ads said that you were worthy of notice when you finally had a plan. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Vindex had been designated a national Directorate-level concern, and there was something of an outcry. Why had this never been done before? Why had no one looked at this situation and decided to, plainly, stop the slide into hell? Well, at first we blamed the Youth Guard. As if she, being a "youth", was their problem. But it was obvious in retrospect that…</em>
</p><p>
  <em>[subject becomes visibly agitated, grits teeth, continues]  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>People would rather just sit and let the fucking LIGHTS go out before they admit the gravity of their situation. Because if you act, if you put your cards on the table, well now there's a dragon in the living room. And that's what everyone felt, I think. That actually thinking through the trouble we were in was a form of making it worse. The fact that there was something to that didn't help. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>It would have been Great if someone in charge of the Brockton Bay Protectorate had recognized the humanity in Vindex, obviously. Back when there was still a human to recognize.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>End statement. Wallis out.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Statement given by inmate voluntarily committed to Baumann-2 upon intake, Earth-Shin, 2018</em>
</p><p> </p><p>My hackles are up. Taylor's been acting…off. When the prey goes to ground, it's never good. You have to make the game interesting, keep their attention, or they'll…well, who knows. They might even die of blood loss, or exposure, in the right conditions. </p><p>So I have to try something new. Something Emma won't like. I'm the leader here, so I move first, my decision made. I walk toward Taylor's sad little table, swiftly, Emma following in a sudden rush as she realizes it's go time. </p><p>"Egg salad? Shit fucks up your breath. Something fierce."</p><p>Emma giggles like a five year old who's just come back from the dentist.  "Well that explains a lot!" </p><p>I internally roll my eyes. "So. You've been real fucking quiet. Why?" </p><p>Taylor just looks at me. Chews her stupid sandwich. Then she looks away. </p><p>I've got to save face somehow. So I kick her in the shins under the table and turn and walk away. That did not go well. That was a dominance maneuver and I can't escalate far enough to no-sell it in the fucking lunchroom. </p><p>Or did it? I've never been looked at that way. By anyone. Information is a good result. Not great, but good. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>During what analysts have designated "boost phase", one of our primary concerns aside from the ongoing collapse of Brockton Bay was why, exactly, despite a clear agenda and obvious public statements befitting a villain riding the line between Alpha and Sigma designations, Vindex continued to participate in Endbringer fights after Canberra. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Speaking of which, Canberra was a dirty word ever since Director Wilbourn's orientation after we brought her on site in…must have been 2015? It was an orientation, just a normal thing, and we had to brief her on daily analysis, because Aphelion was in full swing by then. And we, you know, speculated, the way everyone did back in those shortening days. We said, you know, maybe something got fucked up at Canberra. She just started laughing, the way people do when they find a body sometimes. I swear, trauma reaction, had to have been. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>The next day, Canberra was a banned word on Watchdog intranet, site-wide. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Anyway we wondered if it had something to do with seeking approval. Only I and a few others knew the truth, derived from a WEDGDG contact close to her. She just liked fighting. It gave what was left meaning. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Well. Now we're all blind. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Excerpt from the final report of the Aphelion Investigation Board, Earth Shin, 2025. Julia Mendez speaking. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Taylor had finally decided to apply analysis to the data she'd collected. To act on it instead of saving it in hopes someone would listen. And something had become clear. Sophia was a loose cannon. Emma spent as much time trying to control her as she did trying to control Taylor, she just didn't notice it. Her actions could not be predicted reliably, as a result. </p><p>There was a very real chance that without Emma to control her she would kill Taylor, or worse. Given that this was an acceptable result, all things considered, it was worth a try. If the two could be separated <em> as a mechanism </em>rather than as people, some opportunities might emerge. </p><p>If she was killed in the process? Well, that's why she was writing all this down anyway. The real reason. She just didn't admit it very often. </p><p>After school, outside the doors, she approached Sophia directly as she stood next to Emma. She looked past the taller girl, intentionally, and locked eyes with Emma. "I know something you don't."</p><p>Emma was slightly taken aback, but recovered quickly. "Why you're gay?" </p><p>Taylor sighed. "Projection, really? I'm actually super disappointed." Sophia was looking at her now, a weird expression on her face. "No, but it's kinda related. I know why you do what you do."</p><p>Years later, in the dark as she rested, she still remembered the expression on Emma's face.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>There is a theory, held loosely by more unorthodox thinkers due to its origin in Fallen scripture, that Vindex was her own first victim. This is expanded on at length, by those thinkers, to the idea that the…effect was first employed on the entity now known as The Shadow Of Vindex. That she was not a shadow, but a self same reflection. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Excerpt, Cauldron internal report, prepared H plus one day, Aphelion event. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>"No, I gotta hear this." Emma is about to get fired unless this is <em> real </em> good. "Why <em> do </em> you do what you do?" </p><p>Emma's shocked. She blushes, her lip quivers. "You know why."</p><p>I fold my arms and look at her sternly. "I have my guesses."</p><p>There's one word, a frightened, hoarse whisper. "Alleyway."</p><p>Oh for fuck's sake. I've given it more thought than she's even <em> capable </em> of giving it. "Oh yeah? Well here's how you can fuckin' <em> prove it </em>to me."</p><p>It's time to make a predator. And this will make me one, guaranfuckinteed.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>"I was so happy those first few weeks. Sure, she was clearly traumatized. There was a possibility she could never function at an adult level, with that disability and her previous issues. But I had my daughter back. And despite what she tells you, I always approved of her choice of companions. That woman was good for her, right up until she left."</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"But you know why 'that woman' did." </em>
</p><p>
  <em>"I do. There's only Vindex now."</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"Correct. This interview is over. Thank you, you can show yourself out."</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"Can't I see…"</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"No."</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Audio recording of interview of Daniel Hebert by Sophia Hess, CEO, Vanguard International, 2016.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>The sunlight glints off icicles and the upstairs windows of the apartments, the ones that haven't been broken yet. It's time for Emma to face her trauma and become stronger, or lose me forever. I can't associate myself with people who aren't capable of outrunning me when the situation calls for it. And it's clear she doesn't understand what I'm trying to do. </p><p>She's about to find out. I hope. I dump the bound figure in front of her and chase away the unbidden vision of a cat bringing a dead bird to its owner. "So let's wake her up, huh?" </p><p>Emma looks to Taylor, then back to me. "And if I don't?" </p><p>I scoff. "Then you deserved everything I saved you from."</p><p>She nods, hands quivering. Pulls the knife I got her out of her pocket. Experimentally fumbles with the thumb release, then snaps it open with more of a <em> flop </em> of the wrist than a flick. It's a start. </p><p>"Wake her for me, please."</p><p>"Please?" I have to laugh. </p><p>"Now," she growls. </p><p>"That's better." I pull up Taylor's shirt and jab her with the needle just above her ribs. Damn. Her stomach is pretty firm, I guess she exercises when she's not getting her <em> ass handed to her </em>. </p><p>Her eyes flutter open. "Um...fuck. Fuck, what the fuck?!" I smirk. </p><p>"You know why I do what I do." Emma's voice is harsh and, for once, unwavering. She's not like this on our little adventures. </p><p>Huh. That means she doesn't think of this as a little adventure. Is that good or bad? </p><p>"So you know where we are."</p><p>Taylor's not getting it. Was she bluffing? Then she brightens, looking first at me — she locks eyes again, uncomfortably so — and then at Emma. "Oh. This is where whatever happened to you, when I was at camp, before mom died."</p><p>Emma blanches, she's angry now. "This is where I decided that I wouldn't let anyone do to me what I've been doing to you for months. This is where Sophia showed me how you survive."</p><p>Taylor shakes her head. "You thought I meant something else. God, you're…you <em> chose </em> to be vain and shallow and simple. What did you mean?" </p><p>I need to step in. Take control. "When I found her here she was basically getting raped by ABB initiates. We're not gonna do anything like that, after all, we know you get enough of that at home." </p><p>She glowers. I press the attack. "Before they were gonna rape her, they made her choose. Did she want them to take an eye, an ear, maybe her nose? They let her choose. And then <em> I </em>chose. I took away her choice because it was a stupid choice to have to make, and I could do better. So I killed them. And I've taught Emma to make better choices, choices you couldn't make. Like taking control and moving on. And this is the day she proves, to herself, because she needs it right now, that she's learned the lessons I set out to teach."</p><p>Emma stares at me, open mouthed. I smirk. "I never needed to be in control verbally, you always had it handled." The more this shapes up the more I enjoy the idea of watching them <em> fight </em>. I think it might happen. </p><p>It's kinda bothering me how displeased I am with Emma. I thought she was a good friend but maybe she isn't? Maybe she's not only weak but not worth the effort. Well, we'll see. </p><p>Emma finally finds the words. I grin as it's clear our roles are reversed. "Which one?" she's got Taylor by the hair, her other hand on Taylor's chin. </p><p>Taylor looks at her, and there's this profound <em> anger </em> that I didn't know she was capable of. It makes me feel some kinda fuckin way, and I do not like that one bit. </p><p>Taylor's voice is hard. "Your eyes were always so pretty. Every time you look in the mirror, from now on, I want you to think of what you're about to do. The left, please, and try to make a pretty scar." She's looking at me, why is she looking at me? </p><p>Emma gasps. "Well, uh…"</p><p>"Do it, faggot," I growl.</p><p>Taylor has clearly copped to what's actually going on, which makes me feel more kinds of ways, and I like it this time. "Don't <em> break </em>, now," she growls. </p><p>I'm grinning and my face is warm. This girl is fire. And I want to see Emma burn. </p><p>Emma reaches forward, her hand shaking. I'm disgusted. Total fail. She looks at me for reassurance. I pull out my phone and check my texts busily. There's a clattering sound, a cry of shame, and when I look up, she's gone. </p><p>I shrug. "Well. Your plan worked." I'm not so dumb I can't string things together. Emma got played, but Taylor's playing with me.</p><p>Taylor nods. "I thought it might. What do you see in her?" </p><p> "In who?" </p><p>She smiles. "All right then." </p><p>Then I'm standing over her. "I didn't say we were pals, did I?" </p><p>The notes in her voice are difficult to name. Something like resignation mixed with anticipation. "Truth be told I didn't expect you to. I'm not made of glass, though."</p><p>I nod, taking a second to plan the incision. "Could have fooled us."</p><p>She's about to speak, but I interrupt her, slashing down and leaving a nice diagonal scar. Her eye isn't totally removed, but it's gonna be almost completely milked over. I like the mental image I'm seeing of this. A <em> lot.  </em></p><p>Then I slice the ropes binding her hands. "You're gonna need to go to the ER. Figure it out."</p><p>She's gasping from the pain and when she speaks there's a quavering terror, a blue note of pain played on a bent steel string. Things that were hollow in me for a long time are wet and warm, as she says…</p><p>"If I were made of glass I would have broken off inside her." </p><p>Then she staggers away, eyes adjusting to her new vision, legs shaking with the pain. And I need a cold fucking shower, immediately. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>"Citizens of this earth and all others. I am Vindex. I am she who shall set it right, I am she who sees true. I am all that is left to you, because I am all that is left to me. Two years ago, I was beset by a vision of two beings of implacable evil standing over me, as I lay bleeding in an alleyway. I had two thoughts as this vision left me. One was that we are all, in our darkest moments, at Aphelion, so small. The next was that I never wanted to be that small again. With the help of my lover, I ceased to be that small. So did she. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>In the coming years, citizens of earth, I will offer to you the greatness I found in her arms. The greatness I learned to see in everyone. The greatness I see in you. Our experiments revitalizing Brockton Bay were only a beginning. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>I can't wait to share this with you, what I see, how I see it. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>I am in you and I am above you. My ecstasy is in yours. My joy is to see your joy.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>There is no God where I am. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Vindex out."</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Transcript, Annunciation Day broadcast intrusion</em>
</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>"Do I have your permission to heal you?"</p>
<p>Well I like the sex but the sex likes me...</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <span>"It doesn't have to be this way. There is only a 26% chance of an apocalypse event if they remain together. There's a corresponding 99.999999% repeating chance if you take the other girl away from her."</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Anonymous juvenile thinker, April 2011</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It's true. My eye does hurt. But a part of me I thought was dead has awakened, along with the horrific figures, the crystal aliens, the…entities, who are now burned into my mind. I bleed warmly, staggering to a payphone, as I realize...I believe in my capacity to be a friend to others again. I believe in my worthiness to be loved. It seems strange that I don't feel like I can show it, but I suppose that'll come back with time. And it feels like warm sunshine spreading out from me…</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Things are looking up. I don't have change for a payphone, but I'm calling 911 so it doesn't matter. The best things in life are free, you know. Like the ambulance, and the attention from the paramedics. One accidentally makes my eye hurt bad during the examination, and I can't stop grinning at how good it feels to be </span>
  <em>
    <span>touched</span>
  </em>
  <span>. It's weird. It's wrong. And I'm higher than fuck on it. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I realize — this is how Blackwell and Gladly felt. It feels </span>
  <em>
    <span>good</span>
  </em>
  <span> to have approval and to not let yourself care about the consequences. I see what they were going for, finally. I see why a lot of people do what they do. And I dig it, I'm there for it, as they say. I'm glad they're happy and I want them to be happier. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>But only one remains an enigma to me. Sophia Hess. I must have time with her in person to fully understand her, to help her be happy. Besides, I'm damn near convinced there's something she wants. I can provide that, now. I'm sociable again! It's so great. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I am certain this is the topical lidocaine talking. I'm not normally like this, you know? Anyway, we roll into the hospital parking garage through an underground entrance, which is strange. I'm fairly sure that's not common. And we go in the door, me on a stretcher, and I say "wheeee!" out loud like I'm in a car with my mom on Tummy Trouble Road and I'm eight again and </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"The fuck did you guys put on my eye? I feel like I'm high as shit."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Just topical lidocaine ma'am. Panacea will be here shortly."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Something occurs to me. "Did I tell you guys about the...the thingies?" </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>A girl in freckles and frizzy hair and a bridal robe streaked with blood stands before me. "I believe you called them space worms. Welcome to the coolest club no one wants to be in. I'm Panacea, you're a parahuman, probably. Do I have your permission to heal you?" </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I um, what?! "How could I be a parahuman and how would you know?" </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Well someone told me that what you saw is need to know. Because we only have fragments of it. No one remembers it. You did. Which makes you need to know, because you know what we need to know. All of it."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Oooo. That's cool…</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"So me being a parahuman?"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Ah. Well, we've all seen…that."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"You all saw Emma and Sophia?" </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Panacea cocks her head like she's listening, then tightens her jaw. Then she speaks again. "Listen, do I have your permission to heal you?" </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>A mental switch comes on and I'm thinking very quickly and very hard. She heals </span>
  <em>
    <span>amputees</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Car crash victims. People nearly dead. Which means she can anesthetize people, at least locally. People know I know something they don't, she's got a subdermal comm unit (I think anyway), she wants to knock me out so the powers that be can grill me about the shit I saw. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I want to find Sophia. She'd know how to handle this, she's smart. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"No, no you do not have my permission. I've stopped bleeding, the scar is all that's left, I'm stitched up, I'd like to leave." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She cocks her head again. Her eyes turn angry, she clenches her jaw. Cocks her head again. Clenches it so hard I think her teeth might break. Then she relaxes. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Okay," she says. "I'll put down that you're leaving against medical advice. Can I have a name to put with that?" </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I shake my head. "I didn't give one? I must be really out of it."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She nods. "I won't press. Do you have someplace safe to stay?" </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I smile. "Yes."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She opens a side door to cold air. It strikes me again how weird all this is. "Have a good evening, then. Be safe out there."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"I will." I'm leaving quickly, very bothered by all this. Dad is at home, he and I can talk about it, maybe I can get myself seen by a </span>
  <em>
    <span>real</span>
  </em>
  <span> doctor very shortly…</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>And I will not ask PHO about this vision thing. I think that would be a very bad idea. I have more important things to think about anyway. Like her confidence, her hands, the fire in her eyes. I don't </span>
  <em>
    <span>like</span>
  </em>
  <span> girls but I'm not used to liking </span>
  <em>
    <span>people</span>
  </em>
  <span>, let alone the girl in the mirror. Maybe I just haven't noticed yet. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>When I arrive home, Dad's still at work. There's a note on the door, though, in a practiced and careful hand. It wants to be a scrawl, though, very badly. Whoever wrote it was in a hurry but cared, a lot. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I squint, realizing it's the first thing I've read since I lost my eye. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Hey. Got your address off Emma's phone. She's being a pain, told her we're done. Pls don't freak if I'm, like, nice tomorrow. Hope you're okay. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>See you soon. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Sophia </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>PS: break off inside me. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>And I'm shaking now. She took my eye, she knows where I live. She took my eye! She knows where I live! </span>
  <em>
    <span>She took my eye. She knows where I live. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>This is bad. Real bad. And I don't want it to stop. That worries me for two seconds before I quash the feeling and forget I ever had it. I'll </span>
  <em>
    <span>make</span>
  </em>
  <span> this awesome. I'll </span>
  <em>
    <span>make </span>
  </em>
  <span>it okay. She'll be okay with that, right? </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>"You think I </span>
  </em>
  <b>
    <em>left </em>
  </b>
  <em>
    <span>her?! I carry jagged pieces of her inside me. I did no such thing. I just…needed to be safe."</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Victim statement, psychological welfare interview, early boost phase. Victim name redacted for NATSEC reasons. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dad is of course shocked, horrified and scared. I tell him Emma did it — it's true, right? — and then I go to my room. He's yammering about wounds that won't heal and all of this and I've just had enough for one day. We'll go to the doctor tomorrow, after I've seen her. I don't want to talk to him about it. He won't get it! </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I curl up in bed, hand idly wandering south, but I'm not really feeling that right now. So I try to sleep. He's on the phone downstairs, as I drift off…I wonder with who. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>My dreams aren't pleasant. There's just an angry howling roar, and a pressure on my heart. I see endless scenes of me and Emma when we were kids, being happy…and it hurts more and more every time. These are fever dreams, through and through, but they're so clear. I see my mom, too, and I miss her so much. So, so much. I need someone…I need to be held. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I wake. My first thought is of Sophia. My second thought is that my left eye HURTS. A lot more than it did. My teeth are chattering but I feel hot and gross. Great. It's infected. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I stumble downstairs and find Dad dressed, standing by the door. "God DAMN IT! Taylor, get in the car. I was going to take you to the hospital but you're infected. You have to go to the ER, </span>
  <em>
    <span>now. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Come on." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I can't really argue. I'm delirious today, in a bad way. And I don't see it lifting. But I do have a question for him. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Dad, who were you on the phone with?" </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Cops. They'll interview you when you're done being thoroughly examined. They're meeting us there."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I nod my head shakily. "Is it all right if I pass out?" </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He grabs my hand. "Stay awake, please, if you can manage it."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I try valiantly. I've read you can die if you pass out like this, sometimes. That helps me manage it. This time we're in a proper waiting room, with a proper ER sign overhead. Dad's doing the talking and I guess I can trust him? There's a lady cop sitting across from us, and I wave to her. She doesn't seem to notice. I bet she's doing the interview later, and I imagine myself screaming at her about why nothing was done </span>
  <em>
    <span>before</span>
  </em>
  <span> all this. It's a comforting thought. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The first thing I ask the ER doctor when they start to examine me is if he can make sure I don't have to meet Panacea again. He looks at me funny, so I explain in detail. He tells me that, get this, Panacea was in Europe for a special client last night and it would have been impossible for us to meet. I just nod and say I guess I must have been more out of it than I thought. That seems acceptable to him, also, it convinces him I imagined being told I was a parahuman. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I still don't even know what my powers are, so it isn't like it's out of the question. Which bothers me a lot. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Anyway my eye is infected, badly. I'm going to have to stay overnight for observation and take a crazy stupid amount of antibiotics. Not fun.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The worst part of it, aside from having to spend hours at a time tuning out Authority Figures, is that I won't get to see Sophia. But in my haze and fever and, now, nausea (yay), I'm actually having some clarity about that. And I think this situation is very bad. She might be a crazy stalker or something now, and she did hurt me pretty badly. I'm not sure that seeing her would be very good for me right now. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Hebert was surprisingly responsive given her physical condition. I performed a standard interview for victims of violent crimes, and her answers to questions are enclosed in the attached report. She was insistent that we should absolutely press charges on Emma Barnes, and I have drafted a complaint (also attached) to that effect. However there are signs that things may not be as they seem. Her mannerisms suggest a sexual component to the attack. Additionally, I have reason to believe she is concealing the involvement of a third party unsub, possibly a romantic partner. Recommend further investigation, interviews with Winslow High personnel/students as necessary. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Brockton Bay Police Department report submitted by DET Cassandra Hargrove, case #1122-621. Attached documents lost in Undersiders information warfare attacks during evacuation and quarantine.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Taylor isn’t in school at all the next day. Which sort of makes sense, I guess. If I were the victim of a violent assault and I weren’t one hundred percent that bitch, I might take school off too. Which is sort of annoying, because I thought she was 150% that bitch, but I suppose I might have, like, fucked her eye up or something? Maybe she’s in the hospital. I hope she’s okay, man. I’m biting my nails in class, wanting to just run to the bathroom and jill myself raw for her, when the. Cops. Come. In. Oh FUCK, it’s over now. I’m ready to shadow up and find a lethal cache -- should be one in the next room -- but they take Emma. She glares fuckin’ daggers at me, but I just roll my eyes and pay attention to the lesson, for the sole reason that it will piss her right off. She’s only like, thirty percent that bitch. If that. And she knows there are consequences if she rats ya girl out, so I’m good. I’ll go by the house again later, see if she’s home yet. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The door to the classroom opens again. Two guys come in with blue gloves and a plastic bag, a big fuckin one, and start cleaning out her desk. There’s a third cop blocking my view from the doorway, but I can see Emma standing by him when he moves. There’s a silver glint on her hands. Cuffs. Holy </span>
  <em>
    <span>shit</span>
  </em>
  <span>. I tense up again, watching them carefully, but they leave as quietly as they came. After they’re gone I laugh nervously, and I’m fairly sure </span>
  <em>
    <span>everyone</span>
  </em>
  <span> heard it, but they’re more interested in the, you know, Emma getting arrested business. And adding to the distractions is that we are apparently getting early release, on account of all this shit.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Fuck, if I’d have known stabbing the crap out of Hebert would get me a half day and Emma sent to jail I’d have done it a lot sooner. But...I also worry she’s hurt. This is so weird, it’s taking time to navigate. Feels like the first time I got into a fight, or learning to walk in shadow. Only weirder and more alien than those ever did. Kind of wrong, too, but she can help me figure it out, right?</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>This anticipation making me almost giddy, I go shadow and fly, float and spring all the way there. And of course they’re not home. So in an </span>
  <em>
    <span>extremely</span>
  </em>
  <span> natural fashion for Sophia Hess, who is one hundred percent that bitch, I decide to...yep, that’s right, run around the block several times to take the edge off, like a horny lost puppy. Until they get home, because it’s totally normal to want to see someone you just fucked up with a knife. Go me. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>On my fourth lap, a truck pulls up to the house. It’s a real beater, old and barely running. Chipped paint, a crack on the windshield. Running exhaust. It’s kinda awesome, and I imagine sitting in the back seat holding her hand. Insinuating myself into her life, first as fantasy and then as reality? Well, a girl can dream. It’s not illegal. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Aaaaand it’s now or never. I jog up to them, staying on the sidewalk. Her dad looks at me with concern, clearly on guard. Smart man. She -- she’s flinching away from me. Getting back in the truck and shutting the door.. “Hey!” I wave, somewhat frantically. I’m closer now, so I take it down a notch. “I’m a friend of Taylor’s, from school. Name is Sophia. She wasn’t in school, so I came by to make sure she was okay?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Her dad looks me over carefully, cautiously. If I didn’t know better I’d say he was expecting a fight. Lucky for him, then, I don’t need to give him one, “She didn’t mention you.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I nod. “I figured maybe it slipped her mind. I’m new in town, just moved here.” If she didn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>rat</span>
  </em>
  <span> then almost any lie can work, as long as I get to see her. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He waves to Taylor in the truck. “Kiddo! Come say hi, please. Your friend is worried about you.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She pokes her head out. “Hey.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>My muscles tense, and I decide to push. To test a boundary. “Come gimme a hug.” She does, and it’s warm as fuck, oh man...wow. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You all right? Your eye is real fucked up.” I consider asking her how that happened, but that just seems rude. I’m in enough control here to feel comfortable, best to not push my luck. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She nods. “Oh yeah. I was gonna get myself new glasses, but I’m worried the person who did this might hit me in the head or something, and then they might </span>
  <em>
    <span>break</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” She purrs the last word, and I’m in absolute heaven. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I step back and spread my arms theatrically. “You can see me all right?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She nods. “Very well. Almost like I have two eyes, still.:</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>That’s interesting. “How many fingers am I holding up?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She giggles. “Just the one.” I smirk, putting “just the one” finger back down. For one second, anyway. Then I give her both barrels, and she doubles over laughing.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“God, Sophia, you’re such a riot! I’m glad you came by.” Her Dad’’s rolling his eyes. He has no idea. And I’m on cloud nine. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I am too. Hey, when do you think you’ll be back in school?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She looks strange for a minute. “I don’t know. I haven’t even really talked to dad about that yet. I was going to come today, but my eye is infected real bad in addition to being useless, and they’re talking about surgical removal. And I’ve been doing a lot of thinking. I’m not sure.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I nod, putting my hands in my pockets. “That’s fair. Hey, I’m kinda cold. Mind if I come in?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Her dad steps forward. “Yes. She’s had a real long day, I’m sorry to be abrupt about it, but I do need to get her inside. We’ve got a lot to decompress about, together, and we need privacy.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I nod. I know when I’m being shut down, I’m not dense. Just resentful. “All right, Mr Hebert. Hey, Taylor, see ya soon.” I wave, she waves back, and I’m off down the road, heart leaping. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>This isn’t real. It can’t be real. No </span>
  <em>
    <span>way</span>
  </em>
  <span> do you get to hurt someone like that </span>
  <em>
    <span>and</span>
  </em>
  <span> keep them around as a crushy sort of friend. I’m going to have to revise my estimate upward. We’re probably both two hundred percent that bitch.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“I just need to state unequivocally for the record that I have reservations about this course of action. All of it. My time with Vindex has been cause for self-reflection most of all, and damaged people -- particularly those with unhealthy romantic fixations -- cannot be disrupted in the way you’re proposing. She once spoke to me of an anger that would blot out the sun. It is that anger that we awaken if we engage in an act of war today. And we have...different suns, but I think you guys like yours as much as I like mine.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Victim statement, given in the form of input at the final Protectorate emergency meeting prior to the Vindex kill order by Amelia Lavere, former associate of New Wave. Victim was confined to Baumann-2 upon completion of statement, for her own protection.</span>
  </em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Worldbuilding and, uh, chill.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p><em>The existence of non-Manton-limited master powers is predicted by the work of Pritchard et al, but generally dismissed as an unlikely possibility, unworthy of consideration.</em><br/><br/><em>Their inclusion in this volume is for purposes of completeness, and to provide some guidance for clinical analysis and treatment of a patient who can reasonably be believed to demonstrate one, should such a difficult case be encountered.<br/><br/>Firstly, it is speculated that there is a correlative relationship between the "trigger vision" reported by many capes and the imposition of the Manton limit and other autonomic safeguards. The trigger vision bears similarities to the phenomenon of repressed or "proxy" memories in abuse: alien abduction, Satanic ritual abuse, the "white room and the woman in the hat" reported by teratic parahumans. However, these memories being "constructed" to overwrite abuse that has actually occurred — and in the later case which has had a morphogenic effect due to its severity — does not preclude memories being associated with acts of abuse and also being recollections of perception proper, rather than imagined perception.<br/><br/>The above is mentioned simply to clarify: any being capable of using a dangerous power on their own substrate, body or mind, has been a victim of profound abuse. They are conscious of this to a degree that others are not, which compounds the effects.<br/><br/>Now to proceed to the central point: despite the effects of such a power on other minds and other beings, a non-Manton-limited master power is a constantly, profoundly abusive self-cognition. The master is their own victim first of all. A less enlightened age would have spoken of this as demonic possession. A more enlightened age would not have a practical need to confront many questions posed by the existence of parahumans.<br/><br/>In any case the clinical advice below can be summed up as follows: the master you are treating, despite their actions in the past, has been their own worst enemy for the entire time they have been a parahuman. Tread lightly and keep your powder dry.<br/><br/>Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Parahuman Mental Disorders, Second Edition (pub. 2004)</em><br/><br/>I'm still doing a lot of thinking about going back to school. Most of it at home. It could take me weeks at this rate! It's a very difficult problem, after all.<br/><br/>Tossing and turning in my sleep and then laying in bed for another four hours tossing and turning before getting up, going to the bathroom, eating, and talking to dad, then going back to bed isn't going to help. Something has to give.<br/><br/>It's one of my six hour shifts up and about. I'm looking at myself in the bathroom mirror. Closing one eye, watching how my reflection changes. Once when I was a kid I played a game, where if I looked at myself in the mirror and closed my eyes, the mirror me disappeared. I used to write stories about her spooky adventures. And then one day, I stood at the mirror and closed <em>one</em> eye. And then I thought, huh, I wonder what happens to her when I do this. I stopped writing those stories soon after that.<br/><br/>Anyway. I only need to close one eye to make myself disappear, now. That's great.<br/><br/>A second pair of eyes interrupt my morose reflection. Dad puts his hands on my shoulders and squeezes, looking at me warmly. Hasn't been like this since before mom died. "You all right, owlclops?"<br/><br/>I can't help but laugh. "Dad!"<br/><br/>He grins. "I had to try. I believe that's what is called a dad joke."<br/><br/>I make a face. "It probably is." Then I look up at him, in the mirror, without turning around. "But the truth is, I'm really not."<br/><br/>Dad nods. "I kind of figured that. I'm this close to taking time off work to devote more energy to helping you."<br/><br/>"Aw, dad, that's so nice of you, but...we can't afford that."<br/><br/>He grimaces. "It's enough to make a man think of turning to crime."<br/><br/>I stab a finger at his reflection, disapprovingly stern. "That better be another one of your jokes, mister."<br/><br/>"I guess it was." A sad smile. "I just don't want to lose you at all. And I'm losing sleep imagining doing it piece by piece."<br/><br/>A horrible image. One I sidestep with a one word question. "Alan?"<br/><br/>"Well you know, funny story. They have three day waiting periods before you can buy presents for old friends, even if you pass the background check."<br/><br/>"Dad, what the fuck?!" I'm lost in myself. Doesn't mean I can't find him.<br/><br/>"Another, um, Dad brand joke. Like Lagavulin flavor Laffy Taffy. The older it gets the more it stinks."<br/><br/>Okay, that's almost as funny as it is actually concerning. "Keep it that way, buster."<br/><br/>He nods.<br/><br/>I consider, washing my hands and getting ready to go back to bed. "Or if you don't, don't let me find out."<br/><br/>"I know you'd tell me everything. The same goes for me and you."<br/><br/>I wake with a start. I've wet the bed. "God dammit!" I shout, legitimate anger and frustration pouring through me.<br/><br/>"What is it, kiddo?" Dad's voice is distant, probably downstairs.<br/><br/>Then I remember he's at work today. Because we are poor, and crime is bad, and so on and so forth. With a war cry of unholy frustration as I worry that I'm actually Losing It, I start taking the sheets off the bed.<br/><br/>Halfway through this disgusting task, I think better of it, and walk downstairs and out the door, leaving the mess. She's probably playing hooky too. And I bet I can find her. l.<br/><br/><em>The phenomenon of "kiss-kill" is commonly understood to be limited to cluster triggers. This is not entirely correct. Its proper name is "empathetic mimesis", and it is theorized to be an extension of the mechanics behind second triggers, secondary agents (colloquially buds), and additionally, even, agent interjections. Here the 1990s work of British parahuman theorist and Thinker Nick Land is relevant — the nature of powers is clearly alien. But the interaction of the <b>powered</b> with each other seems often to be motivated by strong feelings as a fundamental rule of the game, as it were.<br/><br/>Before his commitment to a British institution for parahuman medicine, Land wrote of "a love that would swallow the stars". It is often presumed to be a fascination of his manic and deeply hypersexual mind, but it is undeniable that there is something to it.<br/><br/>In their newest album, The Lady Or, American parapop band Assemblage 53 explore this idea. A black and white striped pattern familiar to anyone who's been watching the news this decade is the abstract album cover. The record is a concept album, sole member Tom Shear's first. In it, he relates Land's fascination to his own bipolar disorder to the struggles with fascination and projection, rejection and empathy which his imagined, fictional version of The Siberian experiences.<br/><br/>It's hard not to read this as a male-gaze fantasy, a libidinous projection, an <b>endorsement </b>of desire on the brink. But that's the point. Shear speculates, in his typically adept lyrical writing, that the Siberian is not a real person. That she's a Manton delimited surge of force and unmet desire, that, in a very profound way, her existence as an object that <b>can </b>be loved prevents the love that could swallow the stars from emerging.<br/><br/>It's a lot to think about. This reviewer thinks the answer to the question implicit in the title is obvious. But which is it, music buffs? The lady, or the tiger?<br/><br/>Pitchfork magazine, 2011</em><br/><br/>I ran. There was a pulsing in my head that I could not shake. Nothing about this was new. This was me. This was how I burned off steam. This was how I built it. This was how I trained, this was how I relaxed. Vigorous, almost punishing physical activity. Running. Murder, once. Lots of fighting.<br/><br/>I spent so much of my time angry enough to rip someone's goddamn eyes out. And this time I finally had. The guilt sat low in my stomach, like frogs boiling in bile. She wasn't dead. She'd have to live with that. Forever.<br/><br/>I had killed. I had killed scum. For this, I had no apology. Didn't matter. Fuck em. I had left bruises on those stupid enough to be in my way, those dumb enough to condescend with charity. For a while when I was about eight or ten or so, you could count the teachers and authority figures I <em>hadn't </em>cold cocked on one hand. A hand the Siberian had been snacking on.<br/><br/>But I had never, like, mutilated someone. You ever have a phone, and it's a wonderful piece of equipment, and it runs real fast and it's shiny, and then you drop it carelessly, and it cracks with spiderwebs and rainbows, and it's never the same?<br/><br/>I did once. This is like that, but with a person. It makes me feel…I don't know. I can't put it into words.<br/><br/>I just know when I picked that phone up I spent my own money on a case. About fifty bucks worth. And then I gripped it extra tightly, appreciated it more. My failure gave it meaning. Or maybe the ways in which I was more typically myself than usual did. Who knows. Same difference maybe?<br/><br/>Anyway it broke six months later. Just shut down. Screen went black in the middle of heart reacting a photo Emma had posted of us. And now I have one of Terry's cast-offs.<br/><br/>Yeah. It's not a pretty metaphor. Shut up, okay? The point is, I have to look at what I did, every day, all day. If I close my eyes I see the one she has left. So I might as well try to…<br/><br/>I don't know. Whatever she'll let me do. Whatever I can make her put up with. I'll just impose and hope she doesn't say no loud enough to hear, I mean, it usually works for me, right?<br/><br/>I continue to run, heart pounding in my ears. The sun is setting and soon the stars will come out. I wonder if we can look at them together.<br/><br/><em>Image to cultivate, illusion to maintain<br/>Vulgar in sentiment and wrapped in the profane<br/>The cracks in the facade too numerous to count<br/>The points of weakness are of infinite amount<br/>It's a game we play and we agreed upon the rules<br/>Pretend our make-believe is basically the truth<br/>A mental static - a cognitive dissonance<br/>The lies we tell ourselves will increase in expense<br/><br/>Excerpt, lyrics, "Static" by Assemblage 23</em><br/><br/>I've got a stitch in my side. I'm not nearly as fit as she is, damn it! I'm tired, and I'm thinking, maybe this was a bad idea, maybe Dad is home and worried about me.<br/><br/>Maybe something has to give.<br/><br/>Maybe this is all a sick fantasy I've got.<br/><br/>Maybe she doesn't want to make the hurt we caused each other go away by pretending to love me. Maybe she's just saying things I want to hear, maybe she's mentally ill. Maybe Emma's corrosion ruined her too.<br/><br/>Maybe I'm —<br/><br/>I stand on the sidewalk, bent half over, panting. Thinking. When I was a kid I used to play with dolls. Dress up. Read poetry. Stuff I'm not as into anymore. Don't have the energy. But I had a doll. Made of porcelain. A gift from Emma. Once I made the mistake of playing with it.<br/><br/>I was six. The fragility of the world wasn't a concept I understood. I pissed the bed for innocent and unearned reasons, because I was a kid. So I played with it and it broke. Just a crack, thinking back on it now. But I was a kid, innocent and naive, and so I got irrationally angry. At Emma for giving me such a stupid fragile doll, at the doll for breaking, at me for breaking it.<br/><br/>I took it into the backyard and I smashed it. Scattered the pieces to the wind, because how dare something I loved so much be so broken?<br/><br/>I was six. I was innocent, and pure, and good. I didn't know better.<br/><br/>There's a black shadow, translucent like a heat shimmer, loping toward me. My heart leaps, my breath catches, and I —<br/><br/>Stop. I shut off. And I'm a passenger in Taylor Hebert's mind. I register the nerve impulses spiking along her knuckles, as her fist impacts the nose of Sophia Hess, who has dropped her guard and become flesh again at exactly the worst possible time. I make note of rising endorphins, of an impulse uncannily call glee. The next reading surprises me, dispassionate and clinical as I must be, because I am no longer the broken girl, but the God from the machine come to save her from her dreams. It is oxytocin. The bonding hormone.<br/><br/>Another punch, the extension and contraction of muscle fibers. A low blow to the stomach. There is a warm exhalation from Hess, as she topples over. It brushes my shoulder and for a second I imagine distantly that I am Taylor Hebert again.<br/><br/>I almost feel amusement at the impulsive nature of this cognition. I am anger and I am pain and I will be revenge. I have as much empathy for Taylor as any other living human.<br/><br/>There are muscle fibers coiling and extending again. Taylor Hebert raises her leg, looking down at the head of Sophia Hess. Again I feel something like amusement. I realize distantly that it is scorn. A kind of fuel.<br/><br/>I am not a mind. I am an anger, a response to stimulus. A correct one. Yet, I cannot help but be deeply satisfied at the way my physical call has a physical response. It is a kind of poetry, insofar as anger in motion can be.<br/><br/>Insofar as there can be any other kind. I am anger. Anger is all there is. Therefore my expression is motion. My knowledge of myself is motion. All that I am is autobiography expressed by force. Other than this I cannot be.<br/><br/><em>It is I that go. </em>And I speak for Taylor as I go, as I fill the universe with my blinding light. I express what she cannot.<br/><br/>That is why as I am fully invoked, I make sure to roll my ankle as it lands on Sophia's nose. Like I'm squashing a bug.<br/><br/>Then I again return to taking notice, as the oxytocin builds and surges and overcomes me like a flood. I come, I arrive, I am fulfilled, and I <em>go</em> --<br/><br/><em>The influence of the parahuman tendency to aggression on world affairs is well noted. The writings of Al Quds which have been published in the West seem to indicate a sublimated, philosophical aggression -- but it is a constant nonetheless. The Gesellschaft speaks in recruiting material of a holy and cleansing rage. Parahuman music is always profoundly emotional These are troubled humans, so troubled that their pain reaches sacred and ascendant levels mere mortals do not reach --<br/><br/>Or so many of their loudest voices would have us believe. Martin Luther King Jr once said that “ a riot is the language of the unheard”. In the newest release from St Corbinian Press, Fr. John Brannox applies a liberation theological lens as he seeks to understand the gospel as it has manifested in the Protestant sect known as The Fallen.<br/><br/><b>A Whip of Cords, a Cross of Blood </b>will be available for purchase in the fall of 2010.</em><br/><br/>And I’m yelling at her.<br/><br/>“Fuckin stop, you fucking dumbass! Stupid bitch, stop! I wanted to -- GOD DAMMIT!” I go shadow, running. I can’t be vulnerable around her. Have to be strong. I get behind her, using my shadow form’s agility, and phase out --<br/><br/>With stupid ass Hebert in a tidy headlock. She pants greedily, out of breath. Then she begins to make an incoherent and angry wailing noise, rage, like a cat in heat. Hurt. Pain. Anger. If I didn’t know better I’d think it was me.<br/><br/>Then I realize we’re doing a duet. And I put my hand over her mouth. “Shhhh.” I shush her like a baby. I don’t know why, I just go with it. Mama’s gotta do stupid shit every so often or she gets stir crazy. We’re rocking together. I’m not sure if I’ve physically overpowered her or if she’s allowed it. But it works.<br/><br/>“You’re all right. I’m not mad. It’s just a nose.” My blood is getting in her hair and I pull my head back. “But you can’t do that again. I might hit back.”<br/><br/>She sputters through tears. “Wish you would.”<br/><br/>Well now. “Why?”<br/><br/>“Familiar. Just do it.” Hm. All right, I can work with that. I spin her around forcefully, push her about a foot away, and as she tries to regain her balance, I lash out with a jab.<br/><br/><em>Oh hell yeah</em>. She’s still fun as fuck to beat on.<br/><br/>“Thanks. Now I feel right doing this.” She’s about an inch shorter than me, so the way her head tilts up would be oddly bemusing -- if I wanted her to kiss me. Which she’s doing, right now.<br/><br/>Wait, do I want her to do that? It doesn’t matter, as by the time I notice it happening she’s pulled away. I shake my head and smile. Still not sure what’s going on with this. Or if I like it. But I know one thing. I’m letting it continue.<br/><br/>“You’re fuckin’ stupid, Hebert,” I say. And I smile. She’s smiling back, and it’s just...it’s real weird. It’s different. And I hope it can be okay.<br/><br/>She nods. “Don’t I know it.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Second circle, third wheel, first escalation. Don't stand too close to me!</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em> "I don't want her to be hurt. Please don't hurt any of them, it's not right. It's not kind, it would be bad." </em>
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  <em> — Ward thinker, name withheld due to minor status, during the Forsberg Siege  </em>
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  <em> “Now let us to the blind world there beneath </em>
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  <em> Descend,” the bard began, all pale of look: </em>
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  <em> “I go the first, and thou shalt follow next.” </em>
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  <em> The Inferno, Canto IV  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>As I get home that night Dad meets me at the door. "You don't look good at all."</p><p> </p><p>I grin battily. "Feel fine, though!" </p><p> </p><p>Then I realize what he might mean. "Why, is it showing on my face?" </p><p> </p><p>He nods. "You're pale, haggard. Not sleeping well. Despite the smiles act you look sad. Hair is a mess."</p><p> </p><p>Oh good. She shot low, no visible bruises. "I may have picked up a bad habit." More nutty grins. </p><p> </p><p>Dad sighs. "Drugs? Is Sophia giving them to you?" </p><p> </p><p>My eyes flash. "No and no. I'll be in my room." </p><p> </p><p>I stomp past him up the stairs without another word. </p><p> </p><p>Once there, I consider. One of my lucid moments has hit, the eye of a terrible hurricane. I do have a doctor's appointment later this week. They're probably gonna opt for surgical removal and I am not sure that I will handle it. I'm not sure I want it. </p><p> </p><p><em> Maybe she can just do it for me </em>. Yeah, back alley surgery. Fuck yeah, that's the ticket. Worked once, didn't it? </p><p> </p><p>There are a couple of questions, though. First, is this whole…thing with her a problem? Is it bad for me? I mean, look, I know it's bad. I know how relationships are supposed to work. </p><p> </p><p>I also know how I feel. In control of something. Maybe even her. Appreciated. Valued. Loved? Not sure yet. </p><p> </p><p>I must be filling a role kind of like Emma did for her. Does that make her Taylor? Or does that make me Sophia? Are we both Emma? God, it's confusing. This is why I just go with it. </p><p> </p><p>The thing last night, it felt fair. It felt like I wanted to take it places, on a sudden whim, and she had to be getting something out of it for me to be able to ask for that…?</p><p> </p><p>My eye is throbbing. I want my girlfriend. But I've got to be mature. I've got to <em> think </em>. I know she'll agree that's a great label, but I didn't survive the bullying from Emma and her friends by not observing, collating information, and making a daring conclusion based on the data. </p><p> </p><p>So. Hospital probably necessary. Will be passed out for indeterminate period with cops nearby and PRT on call. PRT want me because I know some wild shit about their "space worms". Can expect myself to be kidnapped by PRT. Possibly press ganged. Dad possibly uninformed. Girlfriend phases through things. Didn't mention this to her because I didn't notice it at the time and was kinda busy. Girlfriend is Shadow St…<em> motherfucker </em>.</p><p> </p><p>Anyway, moving on. Girlfriend doesn't know I'm a cape. Girlfriend can get me out of things she can phase through. But best to have everything solved before I am captured, anyway. </p><p> </p><p>Last point of contact with heroes was Panacea, aka Amy Dallon, member of New Wave. Identity public. Amy knows more than she's allowed to say, also knows about space worm fuckery. Something about it anyway. </p><p> </p><p>Okay, last point. Don't know what power even is. Don't much seem to have one. Need to find out. Can possibly find out what power is through rigorous field testing. </p><p> </p><p>I love it when a plan comes together. </p><p>
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</p><p>
  <em> “The shedding of blood is necessary, for God did not hear the children of Eve until blood was shed. And that is external religion; but Cain spake not with God, nor had the mark of initiation upon his brow, so that he was shunned of all men, until he had shed blood. And this blood was the blood of his brother. This is a mystery of the sixth key of the Tarot, which ought not to be called The Lovers, but The Brothers." </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Excerpt, Book of Thoth, Aleister Crowley (pub. 1944, 67 BV)  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> "I think we need to stop reducing it to percent chances. The dossier you've given me indicates there's a person in there, a person in pain. What does that person want? If she wanted to hurt Ms Dallon she would have, and they wouldn't be a team right now. Of independent heroes. What if that was me? What if I joined them? What then.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> But in answer to your question, per our written contract only, the chance of an armed raid on the Forsberg Siege at this time accomplishing all objectives without further harm is…" </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Unnamed juvenile thinker, quoted in Wards/Protectorate after action report on the events of February 2011 </em>
</p><p> </p><p>My phone rings. Unknown number. Gawd dammit…I was looking forward to an evening in. Watch TV, chill, eat some takeout…not deal with whatever shenanigans Unknown Caller wants to inflict on me. </p><p> </p><p>Oh well. "Hess. Who the fuck is this." </p><p> </p><p>An impossibly chirpy yet incredibly dangerous bird call fills my ear, like some kind of drink with way too much sugar and way too much booze in it. "Hey! I, uh, borrowed a phone. It's your girlfriend. I think! Anyway I —" </p><p> </p><p>"Taylor, I am gonna stop you right there. You are <em> way </em>too fucked up, I'm startin' to see why Emma and you were pals, and if you're about to ruin my night in I'm gonna come over there and kick your ass for real."</p><p> </p><p>She makes a kind of frustrated, uh, puppy sorta noise. Honestly I'm getting like, Bonesaw vibes off this bitch. Not very bueno. "But you're gonna <em> love </em>this! I saw you used your power when we were hanging out the other night. Come meet the person I borrowed the phone from at least?" </p><p> </p><p>I can't deny that <em> in addition to her kind of having my number </em> (in more ways than one! Fine, I was deranged enough I tipped I was a cape, thought I could trust her — but how did she find my phone number? Aren't those personal?!), I am rather intrigued. So here we go again. A roo mow mow whatever the fuck and all that shit. I guess I can pretend to be her girlfriend, even — <em> wait, Hess, no, what the </em> <b> <em>fuck</em> </b>.</p><p> </p><p>It's when I get to the abandoned underground parking garage she's suggested we meet at for some reason that I begin to regret this, severely. That is <em> not </em>fucking Panacea with duct tape over her mouth and her hands in zip ties, is it? It can't be. That would be insane, like if it turned out Emma and I were right and Hebert was not only gay as hell but gay for Me. Oh. Right. I guess that's what it is then. </p><p> </p><p>"Hebert, what the <em> fuck." </em></p><p> </p><p>She grins. "So there is a lot to explain. I figured we'd talk it over before I untie her and all?" </p><p> </p><p>I hold a hand up to stop this before it gets ranty. "Okay, first off, while it's actually <em> fantastic </em> that you went overly attached girlfriend on someone else, this is very bad. People are looking for everyone here right now. The location is good, the federal crimes are bad. Very bad. This is, like, serious heat. And you are de <em> fuckin </em>ranged."</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> And I'm kinda into it </em>
</p><p> </p><p>"Anyway, you better explain this shit. Make it good. Now." </p><p> </p><p>I fold my hands behind my back and <em> stare </em>. She is so fucked. So fucked that I am the only person who can help her get out of…</p><p> </p><p>GOD DAMN IT! I've sprung her trap. </p><p>“All right.” She breathes in deeply and begins pacing. “So first. We’re both capes, right?”</p><p> </p><p>I squint. “Both?”</p><p> </p><p>“Yes. When you guys did the eye thing, I saw…”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, fuck.” I’m waving my arms. “Hold up. Hold the fuck up. When someone triggers, <em> every </em> cape around them sees the thing. Okay? Why didn’t I?” I look over at Panacea, whose eyes have just lit up with alarm. Terror, even. </p><p> </p><p>“You’ve seen the thing?” She grins.</p><p> </p><p>“Of course I saw it.”</p><p> </p><p>She’s leering like a prowling tiger now. “I <em> remember </em> it.”</p><p> </p><p>“The whole…”</p><p> </p><p>“Yes. Two terrible grody gross entities of <em> eeeeevil </em> looming over me, menacing and shit. I think that might be why, actually, or related?” She stops pacing and makes a <em> thinking </em> pose. She’s theatrically deranged on purpose, and I can’t say it doesn’t suit her…</p><p> </p><p>“You remember it because it was like me and Emma, to your hind brain.”</p><p> </p><p>Taylor grins, spinning to point at me. “Right!”</p><p> </p><p>“So did I not see it because I was touching you at the time? No, that’s not right.” She’s really got me by the lady balls now, fuck. </p><p> </p><p>Panacea begins making muffled “mmmffff mfff mmm ffff” noises and rocking back and forth noisily. I think it’s time to just really get weird with this. “Taytay, you wanna untie her or something? I think she’s got a contribution in mind.”</p><p> </p><p>Taylor laughs nervously. “Oh, right. Hey, Amy? Please don’t be mad. It’s just...kidnapping actually made me my <em> best </em> friend and well, there’s a lot to explain. I’m in trouble, as you probably know, and I figured you could help me.”</p><p> </p><p>She leans down and yanks the duct tape off, none too gently. I am not going to unmake this mess, I’m just not. Basically Emma made it anyway, not me. As she begins working with the zip ties, Amy Dallon, aka Panacea, volunteers her first great insight. </p><p> </p><p>“You did this to her!”</p><p> </p><p>I turn to look at her, taking a step forward and switching my body language to “intimidation can be fun”. “Did what?”</p><p> </p><p>“The eye thing! You fucked her up like that! She’s gone half crazy from trying to process it! What the <em> fuck </em> were you thinking? <em> Why </em>?”</p><p> </p><p>I narrow my eyes at her. “I had my reasons.”</p><p> </p><p>“Really. Is that all you’re going to say? What the fuck? Who are you, anyway? Taylor, who is this person? I can help you, we can make sure she’s punished for --”</p><p> </p><p>Taylor cuts her off, posture slackening and smile turning...normal as her eyes become equally dead and unreadable. “Oh, I believe she’s being punished quite well enough.”</p><p> </p><p>I may have kinda just peed myself a little. Or maybe that’s something else. <em> Fuck </em> if I know anymore. “Careful, Hebert. I might break off inside you just a teensy little bit and then all your schemes will have gotten you is a splinter.” I can’t help but grin a bit. That was good.</p><p> </p><p>Amy looks from one of us to the other, and then back. And then does that again. And then a couple more times for good measure. “Holy shit. It’s like I always imagined it going with…”</p><p> </p><p>Taylor smiles. “You got one of these too?”</p><p> </p><p>Amy laughs bitterly. “I used to wish I did. Ha! Hahahaha. No way, not even, not now. You’ve cured me, Taylor Hebert. Thank you.”</p><p> </p><p>I  shrug. “To be absolutely clear, I am <em> not a fan </em> but...it’s tolerable, and I don’t see the point in fighting it.”</p><p><br/>Amy nods. “I can understand that.” She claps her hands. “Anyway. I am <em> guessing </em> that Taylor thinks the PRT and Protectorate and all are after her because she has perfect recall on the trigger vision, which is very rare. This is...not entirely the case.”</p><p> </p><p>“No?” Taylor looks like some weird mix of hangdog puppy and angry. I am worried about this look. “They <em> did </em> say that you weren’t even there, trying to knock me out and all.”</p><p><br/>She waves her hand, doing that voice you do when you imitate someone you hate. It’s a fairly good imitation of Emma doing that voice, actually. “Hi, I’m Panacea, do I have your permission to knock you out with a touch so the government can lock you away underground and pump you for information? Oh wait, I’m not even <em> here </em> right now, I have a special client in Europe because heal and whore start with the same letter, kinda! Or sound, or -- anyway what the fuck do you have to say for yourself?”</p><p> </p><p>Panacea nods sadly, looking down and away. To the left. Seems like a tell? “Yes. My client operates out of a PO Box just outside of Lausanne, Switzerland. They are not the government. That’s all I can tell you because it’s all I really know.”</p><p> </p><p>Taylor looks at her skeptically. “Really? So I can actually go to the hospital.”</p><p> </p><p>She nods. “You also went to the police. You clearly don’t think everyone in authority is out to get you.”</p><p> </p><p>“Or you haven’t thought it through.” <em> God damn it Hebert </em>…</p><p> </p><p>Panacea laughs. “A distinct possibility, I tell you what. So listen. If my client wanted to kidnap you they would have done it without me. They clearly don’t. So kidnapping me won’t actually <em> help </em> you, but I’m not going to tell. Just...calm down, okay? Maybe I can help.”</p><p> </p><p>Taylor steps forward, almost a lunge. “And what, relay everything to your client?”</p><p> </p><p>Amy steps back, puts up her hands defensively. “No. They pay me handsomely for...information. About interesting triggers, certain key words. Space aliens of some kind in a trauma-induced vision is one of their things. I guess they can’t account for the information through their usual methods? I don’t know. It’s not exactly clear. But that’s <em> all </em> it is. If they were interested --” </p><p> </p><p>“Yes, yes. I’d already be dead. And all that.”</p><p><br/>Panacea sighs. “Your girlfriend here is a fucking saint.”</p><p> </p><p>I squint. “Wait, who?” Man that made me feel kinda <em> good </em> though. I guess I am trying with the kid. Dunno why.</p><p> </p><p>“I take it you’re not exactly on the same page.”</p><p> </p><p>I shrug. “We could be. Just...a lot.”</p><p> </p><p>Panacea nods. “I get that.”</p><p> </p><p>Taylor frowns. “Anyway Sophia is trying very hard to put up with me, yes. I understand if you don’t want to.”</p><p> </p><p>Panacea shakes her head. “No, no. I get it, More than you know. I’m frankly kinda jealous of you guys.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah?” I grin. Imagine that. Panacea, world class, jealous of me. </p><p> </p><p>“Yes. And also very not. You guys are showing me all the things I didn’t really...think through about something I thought I wanted.”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, well, glad to help then.” I push the maximum possible amount of sarcastic venom into my voice.</p><p> </p><p>“I mean, it can be worth the effort, I think, if you’re willing to work for it?” <em> God damn it, Taylor. </em></p><p> </p><p>“For you guys. I really think for you guys it could.” She looks at me meaningfully. “Maybe I can be your third wheel, make sure you don’t kill each other?”</p><p> </p><p>That takes absolutely <em> no </em>thought whatsoever. “Yes, I’d love that. Thank you.”</p><p> </p><p>She smiles. “Glad to help. And I can soak up some of the, uh, glory by proxy I guess.”</p><p> </p><p>Odd choice of words, but okay. “So you had…thoughts, about the trigger thing.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah. Why don’t you tell me <em> everything </em>, in your own words, as you perceive it. And I’ll decide how much still makes sense to me.”</p><p> </p><p>“All right. I’ll go first.” Taylor smiles at me, taking my hand. I let her, because, like, this is hard for me too, I get it, and that’s the entirety of why, thank you brain, please stop now…</p><p> </p><p>So I listen to the whole sordid story, again, and it’s just marvelous how <em> benevolent </em> I come off. How kind and understanding I am. How hard I was chomping at the bit to get out from under Emma’s heel! It’s absolute fiction, and it makes me angry, because this delusional little dingbat is only like that because someone hurt her! Damn it. So confusing. I don’t want to...owe her that? But I feel it anyway, a little bit? I hated her last week, what the shit, Hess. </p><p> </p><p>Panacea nods. “All right. So people trigger touching a cape at like, every Endbringer fight. That’s very much a thing. Sometimes it causes logistical issues and sometimes it doesn’t, but it’s usually pretty instantaneous. Now, Sophia, you’re sure you didn’t see her vision?”</p><p> </p><p>I nod. “Pretty sure.”</p><p> </p><p>“Very strange. Have you noticed any differences in your power? Any mental changes?”</p><p> </p><p>I just laugh. “No differences in my power. And <em> definitely </em> no mental changes. I fucking hated it when she kissed me, for example.” I squeeze her hand, just in case she’s totally batshit and takes that wrong. I don’t want to be axe murdered. </p><p> </p><p>She smiles warmly. “No, none at all.”</p><p> </p><p>“It is possible,” Panacea says slowly, “that her agent considers you the same entity.”</p><p> </p><p>My jaw drops. “Por que what the fuckin’ pasa?”</p><p> </p><p>Taylor’s eyes bug out. “Whoa.”</p><p> </p><p>Panacea nods. “So to your agent’s mind, Taylor, you are Shadow Stalker. As well as...do you have a cape name?”</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t even know what my powers are?”</p><p> </p><p>Panacea looks back at me. “Are you fucking <em> sure </em> that your mental changes are just...no, you wouldn’t even know. This kind of trauma bonding is very weird anyway, it’d be almost impossible for you to pick it apart this soon.”</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t like what you’re implying.” I set my jaw, instinctively ready to spring.</p><p> </p><p>“No, no. It’s been <em> helpful </em>, obviously. She’s made that very clear. Maybe that was the intent of the agent, but it’s not a bad thing. You were. Still are.”</p><p> </p><p>“Bad little thing.” Taylor giggles. “What...exactly is she implying?”</p><p> </p><p>Panacea sighs. “Oh boy. So listen, it almost seems, Taylor, as if you’re a master. A mind control cape. One focusing on humans.”</p><p>“<br/>She looks...horrified. Then terrified. Poor girl. I can’t blame her, it’s a death sentence or close to one. “Sophia, I...I’m so sorry.”</p><p> </p><p>It is now a time for courage or fear. My power seems to have made me good at running away. Her power <em> fixed </em> me. The least I can do is be strong. “No. Don’t be.”</p><p> </p><p>I take her in my arms, looking down across that unforgiving inch that feels like a gulf between stars sometimes. “I probably deserve being mastered. But you don’t. And either you’re caught in your own power too, or you’re fucking perfect, because...I don’t deserve to be loved like you love me.”</p><p> </p><p>Panacea is clearly horrified, but she’s leaning forward with interest. I don’t feel like I can help myself. I bend down, and kiss Taylor in the presence of witnesses. “Not sure I deserve your bullshit, either, Hebert, so don’t get any fuckin’ ideas.”</p><p> </p><p>Her legs are visibly shaking and she’s grinning like an idiot. “Mmmm. Wow. I was afraid you never would…” Then she snaps erect. “Did I...did I master you?”</p><p> </p><p>“Guys, a word of advice.” </p><p> </p><p>I look away from my poor desperate thing just for a second. “Yeah?”</p><p> </p><p>“Just fucking go with it. This will really, really hurt if you think about it too hard and come to the wrong conclusions. If you’re treating each other all right <em> now </em> and both feeling it, who cares?”</p><p> </p><p>I nod. “Seems legit.”</p><p> </p><p>Taylor grins. “I knew you’d come around.”</p><p> </p><p>I boop her nose. It feels gross but, why not. “I said don’t get any ideas, dumbass.”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, right. I won’t.” She smirks.</p><p> </p><p>I look at Panacea, standing as we are in the three points of a very tall, very thin triangle. I spent enough time around Emma to know <em> jealousy </em> when I see it and boy, I hope she stays out of mama bear’s way when she’s almost finally happy for a minute.</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The relentless Dinahfication of all fics continues! We expand Vindex lore, foreshadow, and...basically we expand on things. STAY TUNED for final setup and BOOOOOST PHASE, baby.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <span>“She needed someone, and that person shouldn’t have been me. But I was the only person there.” </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Excerpt, interview, Victim-1, conducted upon voluntary internment at Parahuman Asylum for the Victims of Vindex (aka Baumann-2), Earth-Shin, 2030</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It was true. The little shit had been playing me. And I was too big a fool to not fall for it with the quickness. I was in my room, considering -- giving things serious thought. By which I meant I was polishing off a Sprite and an order of Popeye’s, and bouncing a tennis ball off the ceiling. Laying on my back, just...chilling. I hadn’t chilled in a while. But lockout-tagout on the great grinder that was me kinda required it right now. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Thonk</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I had committed a violent crime. She had lied to incriminate someone innocent, who is now in jail because of me. Because of what I did. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Thonk</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I had not intended to commit this violent crime. It is not my speed. Even murder, like, I’d been working up the guts to just ice some bad motherfuckers, but the few times...accidents happen? This was showy. This was horrific. This wasn’t me?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Thonk</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She had looked me in the eye and called my bluff. She had said “I know what you are and I love you for it”. And Panacea telling me </span>
  <em>
    <span>how</span>
  </em>
  <span> didn’t mean it wasn’t real. Didn’t mean I didn’t care to hear it.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Thonk</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>For once.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Thonk</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>No one had expended the effort needed to see the real me for a long time. Except for someone who clearly resented me and hated me for what I did.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Thonk</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>With good reason. They also loved me. Were their reasons good?</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Thonkathonkathonk</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I didn’t know. Popeye’s disappeared in mindless furious jaws, grinding, as I replaced someone who wasn’t me with someone who was. Biomass. One emotion turned into another. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Chomp</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I had never been forgiven before. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Chomp</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I had never been so extreme before. So violent, so uncontrolled, so unforgivable.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Chomp</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Imagine that you are told, every day for your entire childhood, that this is all you’ll ever be. Whatever you are that day.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Chomp</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>You have a birthday party. Your bio dad doesn’t come. You take a dive off the bunk beds, because he never comes. In the ER, as you’re getting five staples in your head, your mom makes a phone call, using a voice she only uses with one person. She doesn’t leave a voicemail, because the other party picks up for fucking once. This is all you’ll ever be.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Chomp</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Iunno, some bullshit about Paradise Lost or some shit. They out here putting little eight year old black girls in advanced English lit classes, something about </span>
  <em>
    <span>potential</span>
  </em>
  <span> and the like. You break the teacher’s nose, she’s full of shit. White shit. This is all you’ll ever be.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Chomp</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>You are nine. It happens. You finally get what mama said you had coming to you all these years. Your stepdad --</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Chomp</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>THONK</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Never MIND what that asshole did. You trigger. A Shadow Stalker is you.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Chomp</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>You are twelve. A boy goes in for his first kiss. His and only his. You nearly put him in the hospital. See how </span>
  <em>
    <span>he</span>
  </em>
  <span> likes it.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Chomp</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>All the rich ass motherfuckin’ white girls with brains and </span>
  <em>
    <span>potential</span>
  </em>
  <span> have gone away to summer camp. You’re doing your thing, prowling the only part of the world that’s ever seen you as anything at all, when you meet </span>
  <em>
    <span>her</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Meet is a poor word for it. That happens next week, after she’s out of the hospital. You go to her house. Alan invited you, you aren’t an interloper. It’s different. Cleaner.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Chomp</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>You become the girl </span>
  <em>
    <span>they</span>
  </em>
  <span> see. They start talking about “Wards” where you can hear them. It’s transparent. So are you, but the dumbass rich bitch is oblivious. She’s your, like, fuckin’ shield, a ticket to the front of the fuckin’ bus. You hate her, because hate is half of how you relate. You need her, so you don’t show it. You do what she wants you to do. You hurt -- you h --</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Chomp</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She doesn’t have any of this baggage. The only thing she’s ever seen is you, at your worst, at your most natural. Who you are. What motive could she possibly have? You hurt someone so bad they should hate you, and they don’t. It’s all you know, the only way you know how to relate. Fuck you, step to me, step back or you don’t care. She turns the other fuckin’ </span>
  <em>
    <span>cheek</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Who does that?</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Thonk</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>And that was why I loved her. That, and the certainty that she was planning her inevitable revenge. A revenge I hopefully wouldn’t escape. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I decided. It was worth it, not knowing </span>
  <em>
    <span>why</span>
  </em>
  <span>. I just wanted to be with her. But there was someone else I needed to see first.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>NPR: We’re here with Emma Barnes, whose best selling nonfiction novel, </span>
  </em>
  <b>
    <em>The Girl Who Wanted To Be Alexandria</em>
  </b>
  <em>
    <span>, is shooting up the New York Times bestseller list as we speak. It’s climbed from the number three position to number two this weekend alone, and this interview certainly can’t hurt things. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>
      <br/>
    </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>Emma, to hear you tell it, you were </span>
  </em>
  <b>
    <em>there</em>
  </b>
  <em>
    <span>. Right up until the moment she...emerged. Is that true, or are you embellishing things?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>EB: I think when you look at the themes of the book, it’s important to consider that we tell ourselves stories about what happened. In her mind, she’s...Alexandria. As horrific as that sounds. My heart goes out to those who had to hear me invoke that, who had victims in -- families in Los Angeles. Who were the victims. But she does. And I think that, in my younger days, I thought I was there with her. I’m not so sure now.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>NPR: It was all so long ago. But what shines through is this sense of deep care. You say that you were involved with The Shadow as well, during those days -- the same care is not there. Critics have accused you of bias, in this regard -- can you address that?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>EB: If you’re implying some racism on my part, then no. If you’re going to ask me which one I was dealing with some kind of latent lesbian attraction to, no. A truth I’ve had to process and internalize since...things came to light, and I was pardoned, is that your care for people is different, on different levels. That’s okay, that’s natural. I think the Shadow will find that just as I was the means to an end for her, so will she be for the Vindex. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>NPR: You know, I wasn’t going to ask about that. But since you brought it up...do you think that your defense as being the victim of a master effect set a precedent? Did people somehow realize, between your release and A-Day, that Vindex meant business, in a way they didn’t before?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>EB: Honestly my purpose in writing the book is to reiterate -- I saw The Vindex for who she truly was since the day I started high school. I’m not here to relitigate my criminal trial, or to field questions about Paige McAbee, or the Simurgh. But sure, Jan. Sure. I didn’t have the nerve, I should have [sobs]</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>NPR: We’ll be back after a short break. I’m Jana Schultz, for NPR.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It’s another afternoon. Alone, increasing withdrawal on the part of Sophia (from Sophia?) leaving me short of breath. Fidgeting. Searching for “angry music playlists” on youtube has me listening to one called </span>
  <em>
    <span>i am 14 and what is this</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and I’m bouncing around the living room as Deliver Us From Evil by Bullet For My Valentine plays. It’s...kinda awesome actually. It’s closer to how I feel than not, despite the copious “edge”. The Girl With One Eye by Florence and the Machine was just not doing it. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>So I am literally bouncing off the walls. I’m a fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>human master</span>
  </em>
  <span> and it has me tapped out, mentally. Need to see her need to see her</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>But we’ve been avoiding each other in school. That’s got to be obvious to everyone, doesn’t it? Wait, hold on, what the </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span> does it say about me that “other people are noticing this is weird” is my only clue? That’s not good, is it?</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I don’t...need clues. That’s the issue. I moonwalk and headbang back to The Notebook, looking at my list. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<ul>
<li><em><span>She helped me take Emma down for good</span></em></li>
</ul>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>.</span>
  </em>
  <span>..okay. This needs workshopping. It’s simple, it’s vital, it’s a go-getter. I kinda like it.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<ul>
<li><em><span>She let me beat her up</span></em></li>
</ul>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Rawr. Still doesn’t make sense to me. All this shit is about what someone hateful, someone angry, someone who likes winning, who thinks they’re me wants. This is a metalcore album about how I imagine not coping. A stone mask. A placid, noble glare. Hm.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<ul>
<li><em><span>Emma stopped listening to my Alexandria fantasies because she met the real thing. I proved the real thing was just as bad as we were, but it still </span><b>got</b><span> me better than Emma ever did, and what does that say about me? Who else can get me? Especially now.</span></em></li>
</ul>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I cross this out, realizing I still have functional tear glands in both eyes. Then I write, where tears have stained the paper.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<ul>
<li><em><span>WWAD?</span></em></li>
</ul>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>There. That’s got to be enough for now. My Siberian has to do better than </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span> to ruin me.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dad comes down the stairs. “Hey, little owl. I see you’ve got your game face on.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Dad, I’m not that worried. It’s just an eye.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He sighs, running his fingers through thinning hair. “Taylor. They are going to carve it out for good, finish what Emma started. It’s going to be </span>
  <em>
    <span>gone</span>
  </em>
  <span>, an entire part of your face. You’re only fourteen.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I nod. “Will you still see me?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He looks very sad and very far away. I imagine myself doing </span>
  <em>
    <span>anything</span>
  </em>
  <span> to make a world where he’s never that sad again, and it thrills me half to death. “I always see you, even when you don’t. It’s my job. You know that, don’t you?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I grin. “I do! You’re the best, dad.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He looks over to the mantelpiece, to the picture, taking me into a hug. “No, you are.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I hug him back. “I hope I’m handling this how mom would want.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He swallows, and I feel the quiver rush down his spine. “I don’t think you’ve really started yet. I worry what’ll happen when you do.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, dad. Don’t be dramatic.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Tomorrow I have surgery. And soon the real work can begin. I will be a hero. It’s what Mom would want.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>I don’t think anyone who’s never been in that situation can really conceive of it. You see the pop-cape analysts, oh, immovable object, unstoppable force. Like it’s some kind of Madison Square Garden in 1973 thing. Let me tell you, that’s everything it wasn’t. Most firefights between unpowered humans armed with conventional firearms are over in 3-7 seconds with anywhere between 3-7 shots fired, total. Cape fights are similarly abrupt, similarly fatal. There is no glory in looking back toward an attacker you couldn’t have even seen </span>
  </em>
  <b>
    <em>coming</em>
  </b>
  <em>
    <span> just to realize half your face is already gone. No glory. At the end of the day, no glory in any of this.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>But the Siberian, she’s...I don’t think she moves through space. She was on top of me as quickly as Hero died, and -- I don’t know. It’s a blur. A lifetime passed, and then my eye was gone. I’m someone I wasn’t before. A loss like that, it hardens you. I’m sorry I can’t tell you a better story, but...if I couldn’t see her coming with two eyes, no one could. I just hope this one’s enough, you know?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Alexandria, quoted in the book Slashed: The Nine As Told By The Survivors (Random House, 2009)</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dinah sits in the waiting room, hoping against hope Annie is all right. She’s only five. She’s little. She’s in so much pain. Gliob--globblooey-whatsit doesn’t seem to care. Only wants to hurt. Annie says the thing she’s the most scared of is when the pain actually </span>
  <em>
    <span>blinds</span>
  </em>
  <span> her. She holds Dinah’s hand all the tighter, and Dinah thinks “try not to die”, but she doesn’t say it. Because Annie’s trying </span>
  <em>
    <span>so hard</span>
  </em>
  <span> not to die. A ninety percent chance she’ll not see the end of the year, how can they, when she’s trying so hard?</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>And there’s a girl, She’s so sad, one eye sadder than the other. One eye full of life, the other not. She’s trying so hard to be brave. Dinah knows. Dinah can tell, because Dinah sees </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span> in the mirror every day. She gets up, and walks over to the girl. “Hey,” she says timidly. She’s never been good with strangers. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey!” says the girl. “You don’t look all that sick, what are you doing here?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dinah wonders if she should tell her. Then she chooses to trust, a choice she will be grateful for later on, and one she’ll regret just as much. “I’m here for someone else, who’s actually very sick. My niece, actually.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The girl considers this information, making an incredibly serious face. “You don’t look old enough to have a niece.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“And you don’t look old enough to have only one eye!” Dinah sticks her tongue out at the girl, defiantly. A thing she will also regret not regretting. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“People can surprise you. Life doesn’t care either way, is the thing you learn.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dinah nods. “I’m learning. Doesn’t it suck?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah. But you keep doing the right thing, right? What heroes do.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dinah nods. “What’s your name?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Taylor. You?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Dinah. Hey, looks like the doctor is here for Annie, and she’s got Panacea with her. I better run over and see what’s going on.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Panacea’s never there, she can’t be there if it’s anything but bad. Dinah runs, legs turning to jelly, ears straining to overhear the doctor. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“...within the next week, now a one hundred p--”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Her knees buckle, she falls to the floor. The doctor and Panacea loom over her, grins threatening and angry, eyes cold and hungry. She’s floating in space. Panacea looks like someone just killed her dog, horrified and nauseous by turns. She’s wavering on her feet, but recovers. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Then everything is normal again. She turns and looks at the other girl, with tears in her eyes -- maybe Taylor will understand? Taylor seems cool, right? And a cord between her head and heart </span>
  <em>
    <span>snaps</span>
  </em>
  <span>, as the question answers itself. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>
    <em>92.6% chance that Taylor will suffer a catastrophic mental breakdown leading to changes in behavior or personality within three weeks</em>
  </b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>But maybe she could be helped?</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>
    <em>33.7% chance that traditional methods of psychiatric and personal intervention will have a positive effect on Taylor’s ability to withstand this break</em>
  </b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Maybe she just needs a friend? Maybe for once I can -- </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>
    <em>72.1% chance that if Dinah Alcott is willing to do whatever Taylor asks her to do Taylor will…”be okay”</em>
  </b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>And she doesn’t know. She doesn’t want to find out what that might mean. By the time she realizes what it means, this becomes her </span>
  <em>
    <span>only</span>
  </em>
  <span> regret. That in a life full of chances to take the wrong path, she didn’t take that one sooner. But for now, she steps quietly over to Panacea, handling things how Mom and Dad would. How Rory would. Wait, she can hang out with Rory more now, that’s cool!</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Miss?” She tugs on Panacea’s blood-hemmed sleeves. “I need to talk to you.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“What is it?” Panacea looks down at the girl who has just fallen head first into hell, eyes dark with a compassion she’s forgetting how to use. Maybe Taylor can teach her -- no, she thinks, later. Time for this later.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“That girl over there. I know something bad, I need you to listen to me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Panacea’s mouth makes an O, then settles in a firm line. “All right. Let’s get a conference room, and” -- she sighs -- “I’ll try.”</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Thagirion</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Dedicated to Lyrisey and to CV12Hornet. Your tireless appreciation has been crucial to this story's success.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The first five minutes of hushed conversation confirm what Dinah had already feared. "You already know."</p><p> </p><p>Amy nods. "She's so far gone already, and there's nothing I can do…it reminds me of things my mom says. The way I feel."</p><p> </p><p>"Like watching Annie die."</p><p> </p><p>Amy thinks about this. "You could say that."</p><p> </p><p>"Is she going to? Die, I mean." </p><p> </p><p>Amy laughs. It's hollow, resigned. Her eyes tell a different story. "Probably. But it'll be a hell of a ride before she's all done." </p><p> </p><p>Dinah smiles at this. "I want to help her."</p><p> </p><p>The reply is almost immediate. "You're already going to." Dinah looks down and finds that her hand has been comfortingly entwined with Amy's the entire time they've been talking. She doesn't know how, she doesn't know why, but she knows this is bad. Stranger danger. Bad touch. But she <em> means so well </em>. It confuses and frightens her. </p><p> </p><p>"See, I got to thinking. I don't do brains, right? I can't, is the official line. But I want to. I can. I hold it back every day. My dad has depression, I don't know why. I don't fix him because it…it feels like cheating. Felt like, anyway, before. To undo what nature and circumstance had already done —"</p><p> </p><p>Amy sighs, ignoring (or perhaps deeply noticing) Dinah's horror stricken expression. "The point is, why should the monster at the back of my brain fix the monster at the back of yours? Why should one have a moral or practical place above the other? That was the logic, right?" </p><p> </p><p>Dinah nods, her ears pounding. She hears but she doesn't want to hear. She'll have forgotten, consciously, within an hour or so, but she's sure she'll always remember. </p><p> </p><p>"And then I saw what Emma did to her. What Sophia helped with. I saw what all of this had done to Sophia. I saw how broken everyone was, how little it would all mean if we kept deciding who had a right to hurt <em> less </em> when everyone hurts, right?" She squeezes Dinah's hand. "Please say you understand." </p><p> </p><p>Dinah's crying. She's scared. And she —  "I understand." </p><p> </p><p>"So I do brains now. And that means Annie can live, because I couldn't before. And you're a parahuman, and you're <em> very </em> useful. And you're a good person. I can see it in your eyes. There's so much potential for us, as a team, you with Taylor and Sophia and I. I don't know how it's going to work but I want this and I am going to have it. You want it too, don't you?"</p><p> </p><p>Dinah can no longer conceive of whether or not she authentically, genuinely would have wanted this without Amy's help. But she always did, she thinks. At the back of her mind, she's always wanted to help little girls as scared as she is. More scared and more little, even. Like Annie. </p><p> </p><p>Amy nods and smiles. "Good. I'm glad you understand so well. Now let's go fix Annie."</p><p> </p><p>Dinah blubbers through a scream of anger that she didn't know was inside her at all, even a little, but which has suddenly emerged. Which Amy has allowed and which is thus taking itself out on Amy. "No!" </p><p> </p><p>Amy looks truly, genuinely confused. "I can fix her. It'll be so easy. I was going to tell you I couldn't, but…"</p><p> </p><p>Dinah shakes her head emphatically. "Do this to me. Not to her. Let her be a child for…however long she has. You've done things to me that I can't even begin to understand. I hate how much I like them. I have to give her up to make this worthwhile. Don't do it to her too. Please."</p><p> </p><p>Amy removes her hand from Dinah's grip and regards the slender fingers diffidently. "I could do anything I wanted. You know that right?" </p><p> </p><p>Dinah glares. "I won't help you if you do. I'll kill myself." </p><p> </p><p>Amy sighs. "Jesus. I guess I must have missed some wiring. All right then. But you know what?" </p><p> </p><p>Dinah shrinks into the seat, tension leaving her body like the updraft from a fire. "What?" </p><p> </p><p>"Only because Taylor wants me to keep trying to be a hero."</p><p> </p><p>Dinah nods. "Then that's what she'd want from me too, right?" </p><p> </p><p>Amy considers. "I guess."</p><p> </p><p>"And my power says the only way to help her is to do whatever she asks of me. Which I was already willing to do, which is why I won't tell anyone that you probably…<em> helped </em> me want to do that." </p><p> </p><p>Amy nods. "And?" </p><p> </p><p>Dinah stands, copying her uncle when he's dealing with people like this at his work. "So don't you <em> ever </em> become a villain around me." </p><p> </p><p>Amy just laughs. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> PRT Form 0115 </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Abnormal Power Interaction Information Request </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> It is vital that all individuals treated by Brockton Bay healers in the 2009-2012 calendar years be documented, a list collated, and that list forwarded by parahuman courier to Director Costa-Brown at her Los Angeles satellite office.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> This message is to be classified NOFORN/ATS.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Deputy Director Calvert,  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Protectorate ENE  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>I look longingly into her eyes. Into my own eyes, I think, allowing the possessive feelings to bubble warmly up my spine from hell to heaven, from the base of my seat to the top of my head. I love her. She deserves that I love her. And if it destroys her —</p><p> </p><p>Well, it'll destroy me too. </p><p> </p><p>"Sophia." My hand leaves hers briefly, grabbing a fry and putting it into my mouth. Then I find her fingers again. Rougher and wider than my own. The hand darker, until you turn it over, and then similar in color. As close as can be, anyway. </p><p> </p><p>"What's up?" She smiles softly. It must be a hell of a thing to feel seen, after what she's done. I'm glad I can be there for her. Someone should love her, after all. </p><p> </p><p>"You ever notice how most people are so blind to the thing that hurts them most, even though you can see it on their face? And they run around trying to fix everyone else?" </p><p> </p><p>She chuckles. "Feeling self aware today, boss?" </p><p> </p><p>"I hurt for those people. I want to help them."</p><p> </p><p>Sophia looks very far away. I don't think she understands sometimes. Her eyes are so sad. She's the best thing that's ever happened to me…why can't she see? "Me too, Taylor. Me too."</p><p> </p><p>I nod excitedly. She <em> does </em>understand, as best she can! "You hurt so many people, I guess you naturally would want to make it right."</p><p> </p><p>She shakes her head. "I'm <em> okay </em> with hurting people, Taylor. I'm not sure that what you did to Amy and Dinah was okay. I think it hurt them. But if you think it's necessary then fine. I only care about having hurt one person, specifically."</p><p> </p><p>I sigh. She's so close and yet so far, all the time. "I don't matter. I look outside every day and all I see is people hurting and holding it inside, but oh, yay for them, they're <em> helping </em>. Heroes, Sophia. My hurt is very tiny compared to the rest of the world. So many of them. So small. So blind." </p><p> </p><p>"Taylor. For <em> real </em>." Her voice is fierce, and she's angrier at me than when I told her about my plan for Dinah. How grateful I was that Amy had foreseen my need for such a wonderful person, in such a small way. Man she…I had never heard Sophia yell even when she was bullying me, understand? "Taylor, I hurt you. You can't hide from that. I can't make it up to you. I'm trying, baby, but this ain't it. It's not working." </p><p> </p><p>*****</p><p> </p><p>I'm beginning to think Taylor hasn't been listening at all. That she's off on some sideband where reality can't intrude, where it doesn't hurt. In a fantasy world of projection or some bullshit. I'm beginning to be angry that I'm wasting all this energy loving her. Because I do love her. But it it counts for nothing, I'm as good as damned. </p><p> </p><p>Then the next words out of her mouth remind me that I'm not talking to Taylor Hebert anymore. I'm talking to the demon with a heart, who's been sent to punish me for my sins. And I had best just suck it up and take it. </p><p> </p><p>She smiles cruelly, although she'd never see it as anything less than cherubic and kind. I fear for myself if I have to explain this to her someday. And she says — "What would you do then, Sophia? Treat them as if they have one eye, covered by a flap of skin? A birth defect, perhaps, or scar tissue. And you'd maybe take a big sharp knife and cut through that, allow them to see for the first time?" </p><p> </p><p>I gasp in shock. I don't know what to say. I'm so scared, not of her, but of what I've done to her. How I've absolutely fucking mangled her perceptions. How there's no excuse in heaven or hell for this. For what she's saying, which is nothing I put in her head. For what I did to her. For who I am. And increasingly, for who she is. No excuse. None. Only judgment and revenge. </p><p> </p><p>She grips my hand tightly, eyes black with fury, glowing with a hidden fire like embers that have cooled but not nearly for long enough. "They're blind, Sophia. Maybe they were born that way. Maybe they were allowed to become that way. Maybe they just let their eyes fall into disuse. It's not their fault. Unlike us, they did the best they could with what they had. What they'd been taught. And your decision is to <em> hurt them </em>?"</p><p> </p><p>That's not…is it? It wasn't supposed to be. I let out a small squeal, one part fear, one part arousal, cherry and bitters. It goes down exactly how I deserve it to. </p><p> </p><p>"No, Sophia. We have <em> gifts </em> that they simply don't. Not powers. Empathy. We understand what it is to have been hurt, and that only those who have been hurt are capable of harming others. Whatever I did to you, I regret every day. But I won't take it out on you. I love you." There's a distaste and contempt in her next words. A sourness, like bad milk. " <em> Just as you are. </em>"</p><p> </p><p>"I'm trying to be better," I venture, justifying myself to…someone. Her relentless vision of this person she thinks I am is a wonderful benchmark. I'm more afraid of being that person, ever or again, than I am of the Simurgh. Or of Hookwolf. Or of my stepfather. </p><p> </p><p>"And that's what we <em> do </em>. We accept people who are trying to be better, like Amy. And Dinah. Dinah has done nothing wrong to anyone but she wants to help anyway, and you don't understand how valuable that is."</p><p> </p><p>"I think I do." </p><p> </p><p>Her pitiless gaze says what she truly thinks of this. Mercifully, her mouth does not. "In any case. I accept you just as I see you. This is what we do for them. For the mayflies and the maggots. For the broken. We <em> accept them </em>. In the land of the blind, the one eyed girl is queen. And we have a royal duty to our subjects." </p><p> </p><p>It's true. I can't lie. She does accept me. Her love is true and terrifying. She doesn't pity me, the way I pity her. The idea that this is a <em> fault </em> on my part infuriates me, makes bile rise in my stomach until it threatens to spill out of my mouth, causes my fists to clench horribly…</p><p> </p><p>And then she takes my hand gently, undoes the fist like she's cutting a knot. And she kisses me. And I forget that being Sophia Hess is at the end of the day a kind of defiant resentment, because I'm not that person anymore. I'm her person. </p><p> </p><p>And maybe together we can learn to be okay.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “ If you are ‘walking in darkness’, do not try to make the sun rise by self-sacrifice, but wait in confidence for the dawn, enjoy the pleasures of the night meanwhile. ” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> — Aleister Crowley </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Taylor sold the plan so easily, you almost believed it could work. She’d pulled together the Dockworker’s Association warehouse, after all. Furnished it. Electricity, heat, a fiber line for God’s sake. Her dad was depressed, I knew. Mark mentioned meeting him at a therapy group once. He pitied her. People who pitied her <em> moved the world </em> to make her happy. It sucked. It horrified me. Why didn’t that work for me?<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>On the other hand, it’s just as well it didn’t, as her plan was...well…</p><p> </p><p>“So these people, who can’t see. They’re imprisoned and oppressed by those who <em> won’t </em>, right?”</p><p> </p><p>I nod. Sophia mumbles something indistinct.</p><p> </p><p>“What’s that, lover?”</p><p> </p><p>Sophia coughs. “I just said, you know, now we help the prey? It’s a weird time for me, I’m sorry.”</p><p> </p><p>Taylor smiles. “Let me tell you about the lion and the mouse sometime.”</p><p><br/>
What horrified me about her charisma was not how strong it was. It was how gladly I followed her. If she and Sophia had what Vicky and I could never have -- if their bond was an example of <em> why </em> I could never have it -- then what absolutely turned my innards in warm knots was what I’d do to stay near them. </p><p> </p><p>“Anyway. These people have one power and one only. Blindness. They use it to step on even capes. And Sophia and I have been talking about how people might be made to see, or at least helped to. What’s acceptance without help?”</p><p> </p><p>Dinah nods, as if in agreement. I hope it’s <em> her </em> nodding. I’m not why she’s such a good kid. I hope I haven’t ruined her. But we both are like moths to Taylor’s flame. She sees in her what I do, too. That if we try, we can both be better people tomorrow.</p><p> </p><p>“Wait, wait, hold the fuck up.:” Sophia raises her hand as if she’s still in school. “We didn’t talk about that.”</p><p> </p><p>Taylor smiles knowingly. “Yes, we did. Anyway. The plan.”</p><p> </p><p>I may not have mentioned. Taylor’s plan is her relentless good intentions. She’s like me, but louder, brighter, and in starker relief. The execution isn’t important, really. She just pulls it off. Because we all believe she will.    </p><p> </p><p>“A large gathering of these people, who have everything, but cannot see, will be held at the Forsberg Gallery in a few days. Dinah’s uncle, aunt and parents are in attendance. From these four she has <em> finagled </em> --” Taylor giggles, enjoying the <em> taste </em>of that word -- “three extra invites. For her friends from school.  Once inside, we will enjoy the party, first of all. That’s an order.”</p><p> </p><p>Sophia grins. “That’s easy.”</p><p> </p><p>“I know, right? And you guys deserve a break. I worry this will get harder before we do any good.”</p><p> </p><p>“There’s a…” Dinah sighs. “No, never mind. I had to answer that question but I did so silently.”</p><p> </p><p>Taylor grimaces. “But we can foresee these difficulties, and with care they may as well not exist.” She smiles slowly, as if beating the kink out of mangled metal. “<em> We can see </em>. And that’s something to be thankful for.”</p><p> </p><p>“Second of all, though? What do we <em> do </em> ?” I speak up. This is so much better than New Wave. People actually <em> listen </em> to me here.</p><p> </p><p>Taylor grins, feral and fae, flashing teeth. “Exactly what I tell you.”</p><p> </p><p>This is where I belong. No one tells the cure-all to heal herself. They accept her fully, give her a <em> part </em> to play. And I don’t have to heal anyone. We’re all okay. </p><p> </p><p>And this expanse of warmth floats me through Carol and Mark, as if submerged in a warm bath. Everywhere I go, now, Taylor is the monster at the back of my mind. And she loves me.  </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “Forsberg.” The man leans forward, slender frame snapping toward me like a guillotine blade. “Merde!” His hand slaps the table. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “I mean no disrespect, sir,” I venture, hand reaching to protect my digital recorder.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “No you don’t. I know. But that is where it all fell apart, mon ami. For us, for me, for you. And in many ways for them.” He runs his fingers through salt and pepper hair, leaning back and sighing.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “Can you comment?” What I mean is, would you like to talk about it? But I know he would not.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “All I’ll say is, she was no master. I know both what it is to be mastered and to master. My father made sure of that.” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> I close my eyes. Bringing up his father is never safe. I had hoped he would break that thin ice first. The fact that he’s done so like...this...isn’t exactly a relief. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “Why do you think that?” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Heartbreaker II’s eyes soften, and he offers me a genuine smile. “Because mastery hurts. On both ends. And that girl -- when we worked for her --” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> His eyes go distant. “I have never told anyone this. It is she who stopped talking to me, when she...you understand?” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> I nod. “Yes, I think so.” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “I loved Taylor. The one you call the Vindex. And she loved me. There is not a person alive who does not feel this way, who does not grieve for the black hole of compassion they felt themselves fall into when they saw or heard her voice. But she was a master of no one. We chose this. It helped us feel. And I will say this. I will speak her name. I will do what your PRT will not, and you will print this. Do you understand?” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> I nod, swallowing. My mouth has never felt drier.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p><em> “Good.” I find myself standing, and I’m not sure why. A black woman, tall and smirking, appears next to me. I have this feeling I’ve forgotten her. “ </em> <b> <em>My </em> </b> <em> shadow will show you to your car.” </em></p><p> </p><p>
  <em> And I’m walking away. Leaving broken hearts to mend. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Excerpt, longform article for Vice, submitted by Paul Braganca, 2017 </em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Chapter 7</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>A middle section of this chapter was fundamentally edited and expanded on 5/12/2020. Handling the growing number of relevant points of view from scene to scene is becoming quite an adventure!</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em> From: EPiggot@prt.gov </em>
</p><p><em> To: </em> <a href="mailto:TCalvert@prt.gov"> <em> TCalvert@prt.gov </em> </a></p><p>
  <em> Subj: Per my last email </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Deputy Director: while I am always fond of new and innovative ways to get the most out of our "parahuman resources", your approach here exposes the department to considerable risk. The facts are as follows: </em>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><ul>
<li><em>Your contact insists on remaining anonymous</em></li>
</ul><ul>
<li><em>She has, or claims to have, an incredibly powerful thinker ability. Consultants rate her at a 9, with likely upgrades after testing. Which cannot be performed because she is anonymous. </em></li>
</ul><ul>
<li><em>Your contact also claims to be a minor child. </em></li>
</ul><ul>
<li><em>The above makes her an excellent candidate for Ward recruitment. It has not been the policy of the PRT to permit its officers to maintain a stable of their own contacts, as if they were feudal lords. </em></li>
</ul><ul>
<li><em>The most salient fact to present matters is that Chief Director Costa-Brown herself has gone to bat for you over this department's head. Your thinker will be allowed to advise on the ongoing matter at Forsberg, and related subjects as the director may…direct.</em></li>
</ul><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> However, Tom. You're being played. It doesn't take an evil genius, or a precognitive, to see this. Any deaths are on your head. Not those of Costa-Brown or of the parahuman assets we deploy.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Just like last time.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Sincerely,  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Emily Piggot </em>
</p><p>
  <em> PRT Director, ENE Sector </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Dinah puts the finishing touches on her email, and hits send. The notification sound (she is reliably informed it was meant to sound like an old pneumatic message tube, but she has no way of verifying this) is a bit loud, and she looks up to see if anyone has noticed her.</p><p> </p><p>This is her mistake, as now she appears guilty. Sophia looks at her. "Got a boyfriend, kid?" </p><p> </p><p>"Um, n-no," Dinah ventures weakly. "Just some stuff about our tickets to the party. Had to make sure they're ready to go." </p><p> </p><p>Sophia nods. "I see. I suppose if you had a boyfriend he'd be coming, right?" </p><p> </p><p>Amy squawks indignantly. "She's eleven! Stop being mean to her."</p><p> </p><p>Dinah raises an eyebrow. Luckily they're all distracted, as Taylor has returned from the bathroom (union workers get shit done) in the single most…un-Taylor-like outfit it is possible to wear. It's mostly black, a one piece dress — there's a jagged highlight of red across the chest. Over her heart, Dinah thinks. At her waist sits a dagger, its handle black and smooth as well. This is not the gawky, grieving girl she met in the waiting room for surgery. This is…</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> This is what she's afraid of  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>But they both are, aren't they? And that's why she sent the email. </p><p> </p><p>Sophia is speechless. Slowly, she finds the words. In the wrong order, of course. Muscle memory. Devalue compare discard isolate false compliment repeat <em> left eye just a bit </em>she's such a coward and so in love </p><p> </p><p>"Emma never…my God. You're amazing. I want you."</p><p> </p><p>Taylor smiles. "You've come a long way just to get lucky. You sure you're in the right place?" </p><p> </p><p>Her heart melts. "I don't deserve you." </p><p> </p><p>Taylor nods. "You don't. But we'll talk about this later. We have work to do." </p><p> </p><p>Amy coughs noisily, looking up "suddenly" from her phone. "I was, uh, looking at places to get dinner on the way. I'm kinda hungry." </p><p> </p><p>Sophia shakes her head. "I'll just bet, and no. Mine." </p><p> </p><p>Taylor reaches down, turning Sophia's chin up toward her with slim fingers and a light touch. "No. Mine." </p><p> </p><p>Sophia merely nods. </p><p> </p><p>Dinah sighs. "Children are present, you three. That's a wonderful dress, Taylor. May I ask how you acquired it?" </p><p> </p><p>Taylor shakes her head. "A lady never tells." </p><p> </p><p>Sophia, however, grins. Sharklike and proud. "The Barnes have a spare room in which they keep various credit cards, bank statements, etc, which they are not using. Additionally the Empire has, uh, money laying around. Some of it in bricks and bags." </p><p> </p><p>"I didn't hear that." Dinah states flatly. "I'm one of Robin Hood's merry men, not a criminal accomplice." </p><p> </p><p>Taylor grins. "I didn't see it. So it didn't happen. Don't worry." She <em> winks </em>, as only she can — and the effect chills Dinah to her core. The scar, unblinking. It's as inspiring a series of words as any she's ever heard. She feels it in her bones. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Do what Taylor asks  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>But is this Taylor? </p><p> </p><p>In days to come that will have become clear. For now she chooses her course, and never leaves it. This being is always going to be Taylor to her. </p><p> </p><p>Sophia looks at her phone, then back to Taylor. She offers the other girl her arm. "It's time. Let's go show this city who we really are." </p><p> </p><p>Taylor smiles, looking at Amy and Dinah in turn. She doesn't turn to look at Sophia, and Sophia can't decide if this is comforting or unnerving. Probably because it's both. "Let's."</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <em> It's difficult to accurately convey the extent to which The Annunciation changed media. We'd grown up on antiheroes, most of us. Their motives unclear, their deeds good (as far as we could tell) — so few of them ever questioned implicitly by the text of whatever media we were consuming. Revenge of the Jedi was an influence on Capes, sure — there's a feeling that it made the world a darker place. That's poppycock, as anyone knows. The world was already bad enough.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> But few capes, with their garish outfits and their quips, will publicly admit in costume to being fans of the Doctor. They'd been female and male, by turns, since the 1980s. They'd been *us* and they'd also been an alien God on a tear. Was it revenge? Was it genuine nobility? Was it noblesse oblige?  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> No one knew. Everyone was unnerved by them. No one trusted them. Not since the 1992 season blew the lid off the Cartmel Masterplan.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> That's why it was so…strange to see the same old plot playing out on the screen after Annunciation Day. The previous season had ended with the ominous prophecy unresolved: he will stand in the ruins of Gallifrey and break a million hearts to heal his own. Now, he was a she. And she was a whirlwind. Vengeance was on her mind, but we hoped there was more — hoped hoped hoped.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> It all felt so cliché. Now that it was real. Now that the fandom, like every Discord channel for any property, was torn with almost cultish anti-Vindex types having it out profanely and passionately with those of us who believed in her. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> They never asked why we believed in her. It's the same reason the Brigadier chose to believe in the Doctor all those years ago, and the same reason Alexandria and the Chief Director chose not to believe in Her. The world was so dark, and our lights so dim.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>What else could we do? </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Article for website "The Mary Sue", posted May 25th, 2013</em>
</p><p>Reservations begin to rise in my mind, bubbling up like lava under a volcano. Parties are social occasions. Social occasions are bad for my health. There's absolutely no reason to believe this one won't be. </p><p> </p><p>Just great. It's a party, and I have <em> reservations </em>. Typical, Taylor. </p><p> </p><p>"I was thinking." </p><p> </p><p>Sophia grins, looking at me. "About how you'd rather be home with that ridiculous thing off, with me?" </p><p> </p><p>I glare at her witheringly. "No. I thought you liked it."</p><p> </p><p>Sophia shrugs. "I do. Just not as much as nothing." </p><p> </p><p>"You ain't seen 'nothing' yet." </p><p> </p><p>She considers this briefly. "I have faith in you."</p><p> </p><p>I sigh. Am I only my body? Why fucking carve pieces off it if that's all I'm good for? "You are ridiculous." </p><p> </p><p>Sophia nods. "And I'm what you deserve too. Don't forget it."</p><p> </p><p>"I <em> haven't</em>." I walk slower. I have no real interest in being here, in being present now, entrapped by the body I've always hated, the roles I've always played. Still a victim. Still missing pieces of me. Still trying to be compassionate to everyone, even the worst of them. And it's not like she can say she doesn't <em>need </em>me. I see her eyes, both of them. The meaning she finds in this. Will she still love me when I'm fixed? When the world around us matches? Or does she even know what this <em>means?</em> "I'm thinking about the surgery." It's true, in a sense. I'm thinking about how I'd rather be anywhere but here. That counts, right? </p><p> </p><p>"I like it the way it is." Sophia smirks. "It looks badass."</p><p> </p><p>I nod. "I like having two eyes. I know you like it how it is, you put it there." </p><p> </p><p>"I didn't know what else to do. I panicked, all right? Don't tell anyone, but I froze. I'd never been stood up to before, least of all by you." </p><p> </p><p>I sigh. She's so <em>fucking </em>exasperating, so <em>slow</em>, so b-- you know what? Never mind. I'll keep trying. "You realize we're here to stand up to the entire world, right? That's what we do here."</p><p> </p><p>Sophia nods. "I'm trying." </p><p> </p><p>I spin on one heel, grabbing Sophia by the shoulders. A coiled rage finally lets loose, once more. I sometimes wonder if that rage is all that's left of me. Or if I should bother controlling it. I have to control everything, make the world better -- why waste time on me when no one else has?  "Now listen closely. We are here to do good, to help people, and to change the world. Those are things I was always going to do, but I can do them just as easily with or without you. If you just want to hurt people you can <em> fucking leave. </em>Get out and take your petty blindness with you." The tirade-that-is-me increases in volume, and Sophia says quietly </p><p> </p><p>"People are staring."</p><p> </p><p>I grin cruelly again. She can see it this time, can't she? How I feel about her? The <em>plumage</em>, the <em>glory</em>, the nuance? "I know. So what's it gonna be, <em> Shadow Stalker</em>?" </p><p> </p><p>Sophia's eyes grow wide. "Help…people? It never wasn't?" </p><p> </p><p>I smile, softer. "Good pet. Stay close to me, as if you are on a leash. Because you are, are you not?" </p><p> </p><p>Sophia nods silently. </p><p> </p><p>* * * </p><p> </p><p>Behind them Dinah watches quietly, looking straight ahead. Concerned. Her hand is slipped through Amy's, and she's not sure why, but it isn't important. The only important thing is that she help the older girls get through this alive. </p><p> </p><p>Luckily she's in better control of that now. Her email earlier has received an affirmative reply.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> I'm now at the Better Friends Animal Society in Gallup, New Mexico. As our readers are aware, Gallup was reopened by Protectorate forces making an uneasy alliance with the villains they'd quarantined so recently, when…when they felt they they needed to do that. It's still so uncomfortable to talk about, and so hard — we all grieve, as Heartbreaker II said.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Which is why I'm sort of dreading trying to pry a personal memoir out of the famously taciturn head of the rescue, former Undersider Rachel Lindt. If it wasn't for her partner I know I'd probably be run off the property by Rachel's personal dogs.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Luckily, as I pull up in a rented Ford F150, dust kicked up by the gravel road meeting my tires, I'm greeted by that partner. Dinah Alcott, formerly Iphigenia, has never had a contrary thing to say about the Vindex. This is bad for my story but great for my bodily integrity. The sun has weathered her, and physical work has caused her to grow lanky and wiry. The girl who traveled closely with Vindex in those early years is almost gone, a whispered memory.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> My mind spins with angles and questions as I get out of the truck. She smiles, greeting me. "Hi. We were expecting you." </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> I smirk gamely. "Heartbreaker II sent word ahead?"  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> She shakes her head. "No. Brave of you to go there at all. But I had a feeling, you know." </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Yes. Her power. She's become so casual about this, about a kind of universal surety of the chances of any action versus any other action, of potential consequences…I wonder if she knows how much that confidence scares the rest of us. How much it reminds us of Someone Else.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> It suddenly occurs to your favorite idiot reporter that there's only one way forward. Maximum payoff, maximum risk. "On the record real quick, Miss Alcott. You still support her, don't you?"  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> She chews on a finger, distracted. "Come again?"  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> "Heartbreaker II intimated that he was still in contact with her to a degree. Are you?"  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> There are thundering steps in the distance, and then a terrible lizard appears next to us. I remind myself it's merely a dog, and wonder what I was thinking concealing a puny nine millimeter here. It is, after all, bear country.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Bitch, Rachel Lindt, dismounts. "Din, this guy bothering you?" She's got some kind of large bore revolver on her hip. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> "No. He was just asking me if I was still talking to Taylor." </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Rachel fidgets uneasily. My mind spins, connecting the dots to her childhood history of abuse. Then she turns and looks at Dinah, her eyes as cold as ice. Her hand drops to her revolver. "Well? Are you?"  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Paul Braganca for Vice, 2017 </em>
</p><p> </p><p>"Just stay cool," Lisa says, looking at Brian sternly. "We're looking for a specific piece of jewelry on a specific guest, it's an excuse to ogle people. It isn't exactly criminal."</p><p> </p><p>Brian growls softly. "Yet," he says. </p><p> </p><p>"Eyyy. I can ogle people all day. I don't mind," Alec says, grinning. </p><p> </p><p>"I'm not comfortable with doing this plainclothes. At all." Brian is still grumpy. Lisa wonders if he's always going to be like this when the jobs are <em> interesting </em>. After all, they haven't been working together all that long yet. </p><p> </p><p>"Which is why the moment we make the grab, you flood the room. Then you're not in plainclothes anymore because you're not being <em> seen </em>." </p><p> </p><p>"I have instructional videos at home on how not to be seen if you need them, Brian!" Alec laughs at his own joke, before being punched in the arm by Lisa. "Ow." </p><p> </p><p>"And now for something completely different, you guys. What the <em> fuck </em> is going on over there?" She inclines her head gently toward a dark haired, bespectacled <em> stunner </em> of a young woman, with a scar over her eye. And her companions — a much younger girl, a black girl her own age (lover?! No, more complicated) — and —</p><p> </p><p>"Is that Amy fucking Dallon?" Alec exclaims. </p><p> </p><p>"Yes. Yes it is. And she cares about all those people, and I don't know who any of them are." Lisa rubs her forehead. "Okay, guys, this just got complicated." </p><p> </p><p>Brian stares at her. "How does this make it complicated?" </p><p> </p><p>"Because the most complicated personal dynamics I've ever seen just walked into the room, and they're Amy Dallon and three unknowns. This isn't as easy as it used to be anymore, Brian. We have to account for that." Lisa could have sworn the kid just caught her eye and smiled at her. </p><p> </p><p>No, no, she did. Fuck. She totally did. She's let go of Amy's hand and moved toward the raven haired girl, who Lisa is just fascinated by and doesn't understand why. She tugs on that girl's sleeve, looking up at her. The girl — no, the <em> presence </em>— bends down, and the kid whispers in her ear. </p><p> </p><p>The <em> presence </em>nods and smiles, then meets Lisa's eyes from across the room. Her entire body goes cold in a warm sort of way, and her head spins. "That girl just gave me a fucking headache. We've been made. Mega made."</p><p> </p><p>Brian sighs. "I'm gonna call it." </p><p> </p><p>Lisa shakes her head fiercely. "No you're not. We're still here for the stone. And for whatever <em> that </em> is." She indicates the cluster of girls that's fascinated her. "They're not going to stop us from taking the gem."</p><p> </p><p>Alec raises a hand flippantly. "Um, teach, can we not talk about crimes during class?" </p><p> </p><p>Lisa nods. "My mistake. I just feel like…I don't know. I don't lose my cool a lot. Sorry." </p><p> </p><p>Alec shakes his head. "Don't worry. I do understand. Damn is she hot or <em> what </em>?" </p><p> </p><p>"That is <em> not why </em>." Lisa sighs. "But she is."</p><p> </p><p>Brian growls again. "I think I see it. There. That redhead, right? She's wearing a necklace. Next to the kinda plain brown haired girl, punch table."</p><p> </p><p>Lisa squints, looking into the distance. Then she nods. "That's it. Boss said he'll make this worth our while, so let's get into position. I'll go distract the other capes, you boys get ready." </p><p> </p><p>"Other capes." Brian is extremely nonplussed. </p><p> </p><p> "I told you we got made, didn't I? Mega made. We are <em> so </em> made. It's not my fault you can't make reasonable inferences." </p><p> </p><p>Brian facepalms. "You don't give me enough information, Lisa. You're too fucking smart." </p><p> </p><p>She nods. "I know." </p><p> </p><p>"All right," he says. "Whatever happens next is on you." </p><p> </p><p>She smiles coyly. "Just the way I like it." And then, like a rogue moon, she's off across the dance floor toward the planets that have captured her. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Subj: re: per my last email </em>
</p><p><em> From: </em> <a href="mailto:TCalvert@PRT.gov"> <em> TCalvert@PRT.gov </em> </a></p><p><em> To: </em> <a href="mailto:EPiggot@PRT.gov"> <em> EPiggot@PRT.gov </em> </a></p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Emily:  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> I only mirror the tone of “your last email” because this is what you do. You make everything about personal grudges -- with the world, capes, your colleagues, yourself -- to cope. You play the world’s tiniest fiddle for yourself, and only yourself, as Rome burns. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> I am not being played. You fancy me the devil, but I am Johnny. And I am very good at fiddling. My contact, your “asset” is the one being played, if in fact there is a game going on. It’s fascinating to observe how we’ve both grown since...previous shared experiences. You see games everywhere. I win them. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> How did dialysis go, last Thursday? </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Hoping you’re well. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Tom. </em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Chapter 8</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Trigger warnings, while probably unnecessary if you've eaten this much dead ass dove, are provided for this chapter due to an escalation in halping. Specifically: beyond this point Taylor's relationship with Sophia will be depicted more clearly as abusive. Additionally: Lisa is not the first person who will learn to love the dubcon. </p>
<p>I'm consistently mystified by the hold this tale has on me. The truth is that every fic I love writing most, every one that comes easiest, is deeply a part of me. The thing is, I don't always know which part, or why.</p>
<p>I hope that you continue to enjoy my explorations.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <span>It's an immense privilege to be part of a second generation of people who have experienced the things I have. But there were only…what, less than thirty then? If you count all the Apollo crews to go to the vicinity of the moon. Now the Artemis crews. Hopefully more, in the coming years. Not many have seen the things I've seen. We all describe them in different ways. The English language is almost incapable of relating something so ineffable so perfectly. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Let me explain, give an example, if I can. There is a thing called the terminator, an invisible and imaginary line along the surface of the Moon — or of any astronomical body — that separates light from darkness. Day from night. On the moon this distinction is stark, extreme. Contrast does not exist there. It's like the words of an old hymn. There is no shadow of turning with the moon. Just the light, and the thing that is not the light. A switch. A line. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Now, to terminate means to kill. When I was flying over Tycho in the LM, on Artemis 4, back in '83, I wondered to myself — which is killed, by the other? The darkness, or the light? And then I thought, well, it doesn't matter very much, does it? In Genesis, when God divides light from darkness, day from night, he says it is very good. Is he describing the terminator as very good? We know that God has a very high view of killing and its moral purpose. We must take his word that it is very good, at the very least. Whatever </span>
  </em>
  <b>
    <em>it</em>
  </b>
  <em>
    <span> is. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Or maybe I'm rambling. Maybe the truth is that Sylvia Plath said all this much better and much simpler than I can, and a lot longer ago. She wrote in the first lines of her poem The Rival:</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>If the moon smiled, she would resemble you.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>You leave the same impression</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Of something beautiful, but annihilating. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>And that's really it. The rest is just details. Words. So many words. Small, like steps, in the final analysis. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>— from The Surly Bonds, the autobiography of astronaut Alan Gramme. Houghton Mifflin, 1994.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I catch my breath, again, for the third time since beginning my million-year odyssey across the dance floor. I'm now safely on the other side, at least. The </span>
  <em>
    <span>presence </span>
  </em>
  <span>and her companions, my team, and the girl with the jewel form a very broad right triangle across the room. I'm now on direct approach, and I'm stunned, and I'm wet, and </span>
  <em>
    <span>how does she do this I'm asexual for fuck's sake! </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>What I feel for the girl is very raw. I don't like feeling it. It horrifies me. I believe, truly, at this moment, that my life will be defined either by my love for her or my desire to destroy her utterly and erase her memory from the earth. Or both. Who's counting? </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>What I'm saying is that most people would describe this as being mastered. My power says this is not the case. It won't provide more details, not yet. I don't need them, I guess. Breadcrumbs, when it wants me to do something for it. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Hey. I'm Lisa. I couldn't help but gawk a little bit. That dress is </span>
  <em>
    <span>amazing</span>
  </em>
  <span>." And it's begun. The bitter end. I can feel it. She'll stare at me and wink and I'll blow away like dust, and —</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Taylor. I had a tinker make it for me. Spidersilk, actually." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>That tracks. The social circles Sarah Livsey lived in and mine have one thing in common, and that's Parian and her boutique. They've recently begun employing a new trigger. I don't know much more than that. But it means this girl has </span>
  <em>
    <span>money. </span>
  </em>
  <span>No wait. Her enemies </span>
  <em>
    <span>had </span>
  </em>
  <span>money. Which include — oh good. The Empire. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"So the black widow theme is intentional?" I want to touch the bleeding blaze over her chest. But I can't. Not…yet? What the fuck, power?! </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Huh." Taylor looks genuinely surprised. "I hadn't actually noticed it but now that you mention it…"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"You have got to be kidding." She's not. Naive. Recent trauma distracting her. Mind normally quite good at these things, faults herself now. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Sophia. I'm her best friend and bodyguard." The girl is squared up like she's expecting a fight, which…fair. I am a villain, after all, but </span>
  <em>
    <span>calm down</span>
  </em>
  <span>, lady. I don't start fights I won't win. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Yes you do, you're here, aren't you? </span>
  </em>
  <span>I SAID SHUT UP POWER THANK YOU </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"And I'm just making conversation. Nice to meet you though!" I stick out a hand to shake. This proves to have been a mistake. I only have a limited amount of knuckles, and they all just cracked </span>
  <em>
    <span>hard</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Ow. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>So I don't need my power to tell me that this Sophia person loves proving points. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Loves having to prove points to people. Can't imagine a world where she's not under constant threat…no, where she's not at the mercy of some higher authority. Taylor is this authority for now, and the best she's ever been at the mercy of. Comfortable. Happy. Would do anything to maintain this. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Just great. Relevant information is </span>
  <em>
    <span>always </span>
  </em>
  <span>things I would rather have not known. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"So how did you two meet Amy Dallon? Is she helping with, uh," I falter. Then I rub my eye, hoping it conveys without starting some shit. "Sorry. Itches to look at, honestly."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Amy smiles, interrupting Taylor before she can speak. "I've offered. She's got some ordinary surgery scheduled, and it makes me feel very unloved." She sticks her tongue out, and giggles. I'm overcome with relief that she's joking, because…I know how I'd feel if that </span>
  <em>
    <span>presence </span>
  </em>
  <span>was disappointed in me. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"These are my guests," says the kid imperiously. She's clearly well bred, and maybe ten. Twelve tops. "Dinah Alcott. Niece to the Christners." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Ah. I make a mental note to search for recent trigger events in her life. They would doubtless have made the news. I can only suspect that they're all four capes, which means Sophia is as well. I don't actually want to </span>
  <em>
    <span>out</span>
  </em>
  <span> anyone, but they all have Taylor's attention, and that means something. Then again, so do I. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"This your first party like this, Taylor?" It's a reasonable guess while still remaining small talk. Most teenage girls don't voluntarily accept invitations from </span>
  <em>
    <span>kids</span>
  </em>
  <span> — she must have been made to go. Or vice versa, supplies my power. Which is believable. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Yes. I'm enjoying it. The cocktail shrimp is, I'm told, fresh caught." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"It's not the only thing that is," I…oh </span>
  <em>
    <span>Christ</span>
  </em>
  <span>. I did not just say that out loud. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"I'm certain you're just as tasty. Don't worry. I don't bite." Taylor smiles, full of teeth, and I'm actually worried quite a lot. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>And if thy right eye offend thee, pluck it out, and cast it from thee: for it is profitable for thee that one of thy members should perish, and not that thy whole body should be cast into hell. Matthew 5:29</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I smell a massive rat. A rat that has taken a fat, liquid shit right on what remains of my evening. It's not </span>
  <em>
    <span>enough </span>
  </em>
  <span>to be incandescent with resentment and barely contained fury that the only person who will be kind to me these days is fucking treating me </span>
  <em>
    <span>just like Steven used to</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Now I've got to have it out with some classless rich bitch who wants to get into Taylor's pants. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>And of course let's not forget my real motive for all this. I want to prove myself to Taylor and I want to punch someone until we both stop screaming. The fact that it's this "Lisa" person is almost completely immaterial. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>But back to the rat. This smells like a small time con. Some kind of social gambit. Taylor doubtless sees through it, just like she sees what a bad person I am. But I have to protect her. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Well what the fuck am I, babe? Chopped liver?" That was, uh, supposed to be a defiant assertion. It just </span>
  <em>
    <span>sounded </span>
  </em>
  <span>like a plea. Honest. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Her eyes meet mine, and I die again. She reaches for my hand, and I offer it, a howling hopelessness hanging off her every hungry hatred. I need this. Even if it hurts. I need her. She squeezes it, caresses my fingers gently. Pulls me in for a kiss. It's a long one, and her hand cups my ass gently, squeezes reassuringly. Our tongues touch, which is a first. It lasts an eternity. I will never forget this. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Her eyes aren't focused on me, though. They're focused on Lisa. I remember, now. I'm just a tool. I'm merely the shadow she casts. And that's good enough. Has to be. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She pulls away from me, breaking the kiss. Creating a gulf between us again. Immense and impassable. And she says, distinctly, "Wagyu beef."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I turn, partly to hide my warm and sappy expression. Partly to see Lisa, whose face is a beautiful shade of red (more like that of raw liver than a finely marbled steak, I note smugly), but whose eyes are a dark and angry obsidian. "I see," she says. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"I'm glad." Taylor </span>
  <em>
    <span>winks </span>
  </em>
  <span>and I hate it more than I ever have before. I hate the knowledge that I carved that feature of her wonderful facial geography with my own hands, I hate that it's </span>
  <em>
    <span>useful </span>
  </em>
  <span>in ways I'm not, and I hate that I know how Lisa must feel to be winked at. I hate all of this. Except for what's me and Taylor. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Lisa fumes silently, but Taylor continues. Relentless, unabated. A human storm. It's what I love about her. Even when it rains. "Sophia is the only person in this world to whose love I am not entitled." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>What the fuck?! </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-jIxIIxWSqE">I stand at last on the shore of the final stop on my trip through the World After.</a> Here, the darkness and haze is at its strongest. I look out across the ocean, ever stirred by an invisible wind. There is no scientific explanation for what has been done here. I can see, in the distance, specks, like floaters in an eyeball, that I know are pieces of the great cloverleaf highways of what was once Los Angeles. City of angels. Destroyed in an hour. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Once there was an archangel, here. Valiant and strong. Noble, even, if you believe the press. Which you shouldn't. Everything we write is false. That goes double for things that you personally can verify are factually true. If I told you at any point in my career, readers, that the sky was blue, please verify it soon. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>But the Archangel. Chief among God's soldiers. She had a rival. The rival could not stand to be eclipsed, her light dimmed by this fairer soul than hers. And now, LA is a sea of glass. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>I mourn this great city. And I mourn myself. I wonder what we can do, now that even the last light we had is out. Now that there is no more reasonable, fact based expectation of a blue sky. Now that she's gone. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Rachel said she's glad she's part dog. Otherwise she'd mourn her too. I understand that. The relentless desire to dissociate, to become someone that doesn't filter every waking feeling through mourning Her. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>She was a stranger to us. Not to Masters. That's what Heartbreaker was trying to tell me. And her love is, like Los Angeles, magnificent desolation. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>She didn't leave the whole world blind, when we rejected her. It's simpler than that. There's nothing to see, and no one to see it. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Only hollow men. And a whimper. And the freeway, broken like teeth against eternal night. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>— from an unpublished submission to Vice Magazine by Paul Braganca, 2017 </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I have to corral these two, and quickly. Otherwise they'll kill each other, make things difficult for my plans. I have so much good to do before I go…I don't have </span>
  <em>
    <span>time </span>
  </em>
  <span>for petty disputes. For hatreds, for angers, for </span>
  <em>
    <span>lusts</span>
  </em>
  <span>. I'm going to teach Sophia two hard lessons, starting now. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>One: I don't need to make you stop interacting with people if I can control how you interact with them. That's easy. Dad taught it to me when I was old enough to talk about his work. Classic management skill. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I lean in, grabbing Lisa roughly by the shoulders and smashing my lips into her. The momentum, the force, tell a story tenderness cannot. That I'm severely annoyed with her, and that she is mine. I want to help  everyone, and if she needs help this badly she can get it good and hard. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She attempts to reciprocate, but I push her away, shaking her by the shoulders </span>
  <em>
    <span>just enough </span>
  </em>
  <span>to make my point. "I meant what I said," I growl softly. "Do we understand each other?" </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Lisa rubs her mouth, and I notice that her lip is bleeding. That was unexpected. I'll have to moderate my approach next time I try that. She stands there, glass eyed. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I step forward, entering her personal space. "Yes or no. Answer the question."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"...my God. Oh shit. Oh my God." Lisa looks at me and in her eyes I see the lostness of an entire life. With time I can dull her pain, brighten her eyes again. Now, I am neither a malediction nor a curse. I am a blessing and not a burden, as best I can be. I am simply the help she needs, freely offered in a way she can't refuse. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Well?" I say softly. I try to smile, but it's hard when you feel this bad about what you have to do. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Yes. I think we understand each other very well." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Sophia puts her hands on her hips and glares at me. Oh, joy. More dominance battles. More testing the leash. Heal already, damn you! </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Taylor, what the ever loving fuck? Explain your goddamn self to me </span>
  <em>
    <span>right the fuck now </span>
  </em>
  <span>or so help me God I'll…I'll…" Her wind dies, her fire merely glows, and her still small voice speaks to me as lovingly as only she can. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>And I answer, a jealous whirlwind and gentle thorns. "You can say no to me. It is because you did this to me that no one else can, and it is because I don't hold it against you that I allow you the privilege. You and you alone, beloved. Everyone else is just fucking meat, in the sense you're afraid of. We help them." I sigh softly.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"There's no helping us, dark star. It's too late for that. And I'm sorry for that. I love you, though. I hope that counts." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Sophia nods. "It does." Her eyes are that unique flavor of sadness again. I wish I knew what made her feel that way, like, </span>
  <em>
    <span>exactly. </span>
  </em>
  <span>But what would I do if I did? </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Amy and Dinah return, snacks in hand. I guess I didn't notice they've been gone a while. "What did I miss? Looks positively salacious." Oh Amy. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dinah speaks around something crunchy, perhaps a cracker. "There is a ninety two point four four four repeating chance that you do not want to know." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Lisa just looks on. Sufficiently offended to keep her distance, but aware that there can be no distance between me and her ever again. Not really. And this, then, is lesson two: everything I do, I do for Sophia. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I always wanted to be a philosopher when I grew up. I hope mom would be proud. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Chapter 9</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em> Forsberg (Movement I): Taylor </em>
</p><p> </p><p>There is simply not enough time. Not enough time to think, to act, to matter. Not in this world. Not in the last. Not in the next. You'd think that once was enough, but no. I was a mayfly, and I have to be a mayfly again, it seems. </p><p> </p><p>Let me explain. Once upon a time there was a girl. Maybe her <em> name </em>was Taylor, but that distantly matters at best. She was a lot more together, despite everything. No one had tried to cut her eye out, she wasn't her bully's abusive lover —</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> snickers </em>
</p><p> </p><p>— you thought I didn't know? No, sorry. This isn't that kind of story. </p><p> </p><p>She wasn't a prisoner of fate, either. She thought herself its master. Two eyes and blind, like, goddamn. How stupid can one person be? </p><p> </p><p>I hate her. </p><p> </p><p>Anyway. Say that a traumatic event forces you to accept that some people think that you are this person you hate. Say that you accept a tentative…let's say <em> correlation </em>between you and this person. </p><p> </p><p>This person started out at the beginning very small, and ended even smaller. Despicable. Buglike. A worm. Her aspirations destroyed her. </p><p> </p><p>Which is the only thing that you relate to. You can see it happening again, this time quicker. You are this person, this...power. This time, for experimental purposes, you have been given the same power you took forever to grow into, right away. </p><p> </p><p>That's actually all you know about this Taylor person that people think you are. She had...this...or something much like it, and she wasted it pushing shit uphill. </p><p> </p><p>Now, unless I'm gravely mistaken, she was like me. She couldn't make anyone do anything they didn't want to do. And that was her entire problem. No one wants to be good, or to do better. Or to try harder. </p><p> </p><p>With the possible exception of Sophia, God help her (because I sure as hell won't). Which is really the one redeemable thing about this whole clusterfuck. </p><p> </p><p>So say that you are in a closed loop of eternal return. Nothing you do matters, obviously. The…aliens you saw. They <em> will win </em>. Again and again. But you will do it. Even if you don't want to. </p><p> </p><p>Like flies are we to the gods, I think it goes. And though I were lord of them, it mattered not a bit in the grand scheme of things. </p><p> </p><p>Say that you saw a path. In the midst of all this. You actually can't behave like the girl they think you are, the one you were last time, because </p><p> </p><p>
  <b> <em>HELLO MISSING AN EYE HERE THANKS A LOT BEST GIRL SOPHIA I REALLY NEEDED THAT IN MY LIFE </em> </b>
</p><p> </p><p><em> Ahem. </em>Excuse me. I'm so fucking…well, wouldn't you be? </p><p> </p><p>Anyway. You're angry. You're crazy. The fucking worms only you can see are like oh hey, do the thing again, we almost have sufficient data for a meaningful answer! </p><p> </p><p>What do you do? You can make anyone do anything, provided they "wanted to do it", and the crux of your ability is that you can make them see that they wanted that. </p><p> </p><p>Including yourself, because God hates your stupid no ass having...ass.</p><p> </p><p>What? A little louder in the back. I can't hear you. </p><p> </p><p>Oh, yes. She wanted validation, and an excuse to stop hurting people. I can only give her some of those things, I can't give her the world. My bad, I guess. I do let her say no to me, though? Someone has to, right? That's good? No? Moving on. </p><p> </p><p>So. You can justify any cruelty your heart imagines. If you can dream it you can will it. If you will it it is thus an ethos because You Willed It. And it is no dream. </p><p> </p><p>The issue is, your mind, your instincts, your "lizard brain" or whatever you want to call it — has already framed this as "wow, huh, I can justify any cruelty my heart desires". People are like this. This is what the worms see, this is what you see, even if you've only got one eye. It's not like it wasn't kinda dawning on you before. People don't realize they have…this level of power, and the ability to convince themselves and everyone else that it was what they wanted the whole time…and then go and do good things with it. </p><p> </p><p>If you think they do you need to pick up a fucking book sometime. </p><p> </p><p>Anyway. I'm never going to do more good than bad because I'm not fully capable of that. I'm uniquely handicapped, <em> and </em>uniquely empowered. So. What can I do? </p><p> </p><p>I need to <em> try </em> to do good. I'm not <em> proud </em>of hurting Sophia. I just…I enjoy it. Wouldn't you? Is my only real power relentless self-justification? Well, yours is too. Get the Speck out of your eye. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Haha. I made a funny.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Anyway, the world is going to end within my lifetime, because the worms only I can see want to do the same thing as last time only faster and more efficiently. Which is why I can't just go to the fucking PRT. You get how that sounds, right? It's fucking crazy talk. </p><p> </p><p>So. I have two objectives. The first and most important is this: end the world some other way, so that they don't get what they want. Stop the cycle of abuse by giving in. I know it sounds awful, and I don't care. It's the one thing they don't expect, so don't try to stop me. And if that seems ugly to you, or immoral, or like a bad idea, you'll <em> love </em>the next one:</p><p> </p><p><em> Have as much fun as I can on the way down. </em>Yeah, you heard me. We Emma now. What are you gonna do about it? Stop reading? You can't. You want to keep reading, you want to look away, you know which one wins. </p><p> </p><p>I am not the fucking monster at the end of this book. Then again, I'm not the writer either. Which of you is more culpable? Take that up with him. </p><p> </p><p>Which am I here tonight to do? Well, that depends. Wait, hold on. I spy with my little eye…</p><p> </p><p>"Sophia, is that who I think it is?" I point, quite conspicuously, at a red headed bitch across the room. </p><p> </p><p>She swallows, taking a minute to compose herself before replying. "Yeah, boss. Yeah it is." </p><p> </p><p>"I thought as much. Oh boy, this is gonna be even better than I thought."</p><p> </p><p>Lisa raises an eyebrow. "You know her?" </p><p> </p><p>I nod, smiling widely. "Yep. Best of friends ever since we were babies." </p><p> </p><p>Lisa's eyes narrow. "I don't know what you did to my head, or where you learned to kiss, and I don't care. But if you lie to me again I might start caring. Understand me?" </p><p> </p><p>Sigh. Not this shit again. "Yeah, yeah. Okay. I fucking hate her guts, she's mine, I can do whatever I want with her. Do I make myself clear?" </p><p> </p><p>Lisa studies me for a minute. "Crystal, actually." </p><p> </p><p>I smile, although it's more straight with the implication of a curve. Like the blade on my hip, which my hand falls to the grip of. "Good. Then if you'll excuse me…"</p><p> </p><p>Sophia growls. "God damn it. You fucking dumbass. Don't <em> do </em> this!"</p><p> </p><p>I turn and glare at her. "Why not?" </p><p> </p><p>"Because everyone will see it and everyone will hate you for it." She's right, but only seeing the short term. So mortal. So flawed. </p><p> </p><p>"But Sophia?" </p><p> </p><p>She inclines her head. </p><p> </p><p>I continue. "Will they fear?" </p><p> </p><p>She nods glumly, and says nothing more. </p><p> </p><p>Lisa looks at Sophia pityingly. "Not what you envisioned, is it?" </p><p> </p><p>Sophia shakes her head. "Fuck you once for knowing too much and twice for being right." </p><p> </p><p>And with that I'm off to the other side of the room, where Emma and Madison are discussing things with Lisa's male companions under an <em> utterly gaudy </em>chandelier. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Forsberg (Movement I): Dinah  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>When I was six my parents had the most <em> disagreeable </em> cat. It must have been a shelter cat, I think. It pissed and shat everywhere, and it scratched the absolute bejesus out of me, but I <em> loved </em> it. I wonder, now that I'm older and more mature, if that love was an obligation? If that makes it less of a real and true love? </p><p> </p><p>All I know is that I begged my parents to not get rid of it. Every day my arms got redder and my room pissier. There was only so much I could do, in the end. And they did what they had to do. </p><p> </p><p>The right thing, objectively speaking. So it goes. </p><p> </p><p>But that's cheap, isn't it? To look at the slaughterhouse of a world we live in, where everyone is worm food, and be all "so it goes"? </p><p> </p><p>A brief digression, if you'll forgive me. I also once read a book, in my mother's study — she fancies herself an amateur screenwriter — that <em> seriously suggests </em> that in order to give us a reason to empathize with the main character in a movie, we should depict that character as saving a small animal or other vulnerable creature at some point before the plot begins in earnest. This is in fact the title of the book. <em> Save the Cat, </em>it's called. I think. </p><p> </p><p>And isn't that even cheaper? Sappy. Stupid. Simplistic. As if there's a chance in hell that it doesn't <em> go </em>. </p><p> </p><p>So it goes. The cat I'm trying to save pisses her way across the dance floor, and I watch. Powerless. Well. In the sense that I cannot actually <em> act </em>. I can see, though. I can't see how it ends, only that it does end. That somehow I need to be there for her for as long as I can. </p><p> </p><p>If only she wasn't so goddamn hard to watch. So proud of the person she's becoming. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Do I have to be, too?  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>She stands before Emma, Alec and Brian (as Lisa has informed us her friends are called), hands on her hips. Grin no doubt defiant. I can't see her face, only what she looks like from behind. Maybe no one can, but that's...literal right now. </p><p> </p><p>I look up at Amy, squeezing her hand, searching for reassurance. "I don't like this."</p><p> </p><p>Amy shakes her head. "I don't know if I do or not. But I want to." </p><p> </p><p>"Why?" Am I truly the most morally conscious person here? Or just the best able to justify myself? </p><p> </p><p>"Because the truth is, small one, I want to see someone give the world what it has coming."</p><p> </p><p>I rip my thumb out of my mouth. Regression is beneath me entirely. "Do you really think that's…what anyone deserves?" </p><p> </p><p>"What? Do you know what she's going to do?" Amy's voice is mocking, condescending. <em> Adult </em>. I feel a brief surge of what she and Taylor must feel. I shiver, as I like it all too well. </p><p> </p><p>Sophia interjects, biting off her words with flinty teeth. "Don't play dumb. It's okay to pretend you don't like watching, around the kid, but don't pretend you don't know exactly what she's going to do." </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Forsberg (Movement I): Lisa </em>
</p><p> </p><p>"What the fuck is she going to do? And why are you jagoffs letting her?" </p><p> </p><p>I stare at the girls who have tied their fortunes to this hateful, disgusting, rapacious, snobby, proud, </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Self-loathing, suicidal, friendless, afraid, resigned, in denial and projecting  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b> <em>THANK YOU POWER DID I ASK NO I DID NOT </em> </b>
</p><p> </p><p>BITCH</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Taylor </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Okay fine. I hate her because I know what I'm capable of and it's all the same shit. I'm stronger, because I didn't give into temptation, aren't I? </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> I hate her because she owns me. I hate her because I enjoy that, I enjoy watching.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>And all the sick little pieces suddenly put themselves together. My power feeds me a distasteful image of me, naked atop Reggie, my hands on his throat, sobbing as I…as I…</p><p> </p><p>"BRIAN! STOP HER!" </p><p> </p><p>Dinah, the kid, smiles softly. Amy's eyes flash. "Don't. Let her do what she needs to do." </p><p> </p><p>"why?" it's the cry of a small child who has just been struck. I've never been so…off center. So angry. So <em> offended.  </em></p><p> </p><p>"Because I think we all know we'd rather see her get what she wants than any of us get what <em> we </em> want, deep down."</p><p> </p><p>My power thinks this over, briefly, without my consent. I gag audibly. "You're disgusting."</p><p> </p><p>"And she's better than me." </p><p> </p><p>I scowl. "Fair."</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> What I want is to watch. To not have a part to play. To not dress up my petty grievances in a purple bodysuit.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> To have a family.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>And just as simply as it was <em>made</em>, my choice is <em>rationalized</em>.</p><p> </p><p>I watch, both eyes focused keenly, as </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Forsberg (Movement I): Emma  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Fuck. </p><p> </p><p>It's that simple. Sometimes your life flashes before your eyes, you realize that your heart is much, much heavier than a feather, and that death is too good for you. And there's only one word that can sum this resignation up succinctly. </p><p> </p><p>Again. <em> Fuck </em>. </p><p> </p><p>The knife in her hand is beautiful. Its handle is some kind of meteorite ore, its blade is so shiny I can see my reflection in it. She's holding it that way on purpose, of course. It's the last chance I'll ever have to see it with…</p><p> </p><p>No. Resolute. Do <em> better </em> this time damn you. "Hey, Taylor."</p><p> </p><p>"Hello, Emma," she says coldly. </p><p> </p><p>"I'm sorry," I say genuinely, though the noose is already tightening. </p><p> </p><p>"Me too." She lifts the knife up and squints at it a bit. For a moment I'm confused, but I realize she's just looking at her own reflection. </p><p> </p><p>"We can put it behind us. Be friends again." I'm talking very fast, tripping over the words I don't slur, a fear slick taking over everything from my throat on down my spine. "I don't know how but we can. I mean that."</p><p> </p><p>"I know you do. But that's not what you really want, is it?" </p><p> </p><p>I look into her eyes, and…</p><p> </p><p>"No it isn't. But I shouldn't get what I want. That's not fair. That means I win."</p><p> </p><p>"You already did win. So you get what you want." She says it so simply. As if she's telling me what's for lunch today. </p><p> </p><p>I'm gonna have to eat the whole shit sandwich, I guess. </p><p> </p><p>I find myself slowly settling to my knees, looking up at my old friend. Feeling so guilty. Admiring her, for reasons I can't begin to explain. There is no universe in which she breaks, and every universe in which I do. And yet it's more than that. It's that she sees so clearly, her judgments are so fair, and mine have always been perverted by my pettiness. </p><p> </p><p>We don't deserve her, I hear myself think distantly. And it takes me a second to realize that by <em> we </em> I mean seven billion whole people. This planet doesn't deserve such radiance, such nobility, such unbreakable <em> strength </em>… </p><p> </p><p>These thoughts don't make sense, and my brain is spinning like the first time I tried weed. I was so high I don't think I knew my own thoughts, just that they didn't make sense. </p><p> </p><p>I imagine us kissing, and realize I'm drifting into fantasy to escape the truth of her, when I hear a shout. </p><p> </p><p>"BRIAN, STOP HER!" Okay, Taylor, who's Brian and why do you want him to stop me? </p><p> </p><p>"Shhh. Emma. It's going to be okay. Stay here for a second, please."</p><p> </p><p>I nod. "Did I say that out loud?" </p><p> </p><p>She shakes her head, bemused. "No you didn't. But I heard it, I'm sure."</p><p> </p><p>Now she's turned to face the crowd, or at least that part of it that the blonde girl she was with is part of. I think everyone in the room must be looking at us right now, probably as fascinated by her as I am. "Stop me from what, Lisa?" </p><p> </p><p>Lisa shakes her head. "I won't play your games, bitch. If you need a foil to validate you you're weaker than I thought, and I won't dance to your tune." </p><p> </p><p>I laugh, remembering the first time Madison saw me bully Taylor. She only lasted a week. And I'm very charming, but I'm not <em> Taylor </em>. Lisa will not last the night. </p><p> </p><p>"What's Lisa talking about? What does she want me to stop you from?" Brian sounds frustrated, disinterested. </p><p> </p><p>Taylor positively purrs, and it's like venom, or like syrup, or I don't care which just give me all of it forever. "You already know you don't want any part of it. So don't worry about it."</p><p> </p><p>Brian nods. Alec, however, grins. "I want to see this. It should be good fucking television."</p><p> </p><p>Taylor points at him and crows. "You. I like you."</p><p> </p><p>He preens visibly, and I'm reminded of boys in hallways and a person who thought she was better than Taylor. </p><p> </p><p>"If you can hear me raise your hand, please." Taylor's not yelling, just projecting from her diaphragm. It's impressive. Almost every hand in the ballroom raises. </p><p> </p><p>"Good enough, thank you. My name is Taylor Hebert. I have an announcement to make. First, no one will leave this ballroom until I give permission."</p><p> </p><p>There's fidgeting, but no one pulls out their phones. No one tries to run. </p><p> </p><p>"Okay, good. Second. If at any time I ask you to do something you will do it, okay?" </p><p> </p><p>The crowd is transfixed. </p><p> </p><p>Taylor seems to realize something, looking disappointed and then brightening quickly. "Sorry. I meant to say, if that's all right with you, please raise your right hand." </p><p> </p><p>Everyone does. Even me. I have to pee. It's an emergency. </p><p> </p><p>"Great! Very cool, everyone. Thank you. Now for the announcement." </p><p> </p><p>She grins, looking the crowd over. Then she comes back, stands behind me, and rests her hand on my shoulder. "When I was a little girl, I was quite convinced in the goodness of the world. In heroes, in love. In friendship. All of those things were embodied in this person, right here." </p><p> </p><p>She pats my arm. "Emma Barnes. My best friend for years. And the person who cut out my eye."</p><p> </p><p>The crowd gasps. Sophia shouts something indistinct, but Taylor is quick with a reply. "No, Sophia. She lied to you, she told you things that validated your beliefs about the world, as false as they were. You told her to do it to me on the basis of those lies. It made sense, yes. But it was <em> her idea. </em>She did it to me as surely as rain falls and the world turns."</p><p> </p><p>That tracks. I can't fault her. What I don't know is why Sophia went through with it after I ran. </p><p> </p><p>"Emma, now, is one of you. The rich, the disinterested, the above-it-all. You've never imagined the shoe being on the other foot. Never imagined yourself at anyone's mercy. Why? That's easy, actually, glad you asked. You don't believe mercy exists." </p><p> </p><p>Her hand is cupping my eye now, as mine did hers. So cool, so soft. Comforting, actually. Even though I know what's coming. </p><p> </p><p>"You're right, you know. Mercy doesn't exist. It takes free will. Which none of you actually have." She shrugs, as if she's telling the crowd a joke. "It <em> could </em>exist, if I wanted it to. But I don't. Not tonight. Maybe later." </p><p> </p><p>I didn't think megalomania could be this hot. Maybe it's just her, maybe it's <em> me </em> and the position I'm in. I don't know. Maybe I'm just fucking trying to cope with what's about to happen. </p><p> </p><p>She speaks, again. Cold and hard. Determined. I want to say evil but I know only I fit that description, between us. "Sophia if you do not put that phone away I will kill you."</p><p> </p><p>I see Dinah pat Sophia's arm. Sophia scowls and puts the phone in her pocket. Dinah says something, but I can't hear what. Neither can Taylor, presumably. </p><p> </p><p>"Anyway. I am going to repay Emma with a chance to…see things from my perspective. Death is unkind, and most of all it's unfair. I'd want her to do better, not to stop <em> doing things </em>generally." </p><p> </p><p>More softly, to me. "You don't get to choose which eye, you know."</p><p> </p><p>I nod. "Didn't figure I would." </p><p> </p><p>She nods contentedly. "Tell me when you're ready." </p><p> </p><p>I sigh, taking a long look around the room. Then I gaze up and drink her in with both eyes. "I'm ready." </p><p> </p><p>The knife burns fiercely. For a second I worry she wants to put it all the way into my brain. But then the entire eye pops loose and falls to the floor in what feels like slow motion. There's a wet sound, and my cheeks are wetter. My ears are roaring, my brain is screaming. "Taylor, please!" Please what? It's irrelevant. <em> Please.  </em></p><p> </p><p>She bends down and kisses me on the lips. My head spins, my heart is finally light as a feather. She made it so. </p><p> </p><p>Her voice rings out again across the ballroom. "Amy. Be a dear and stop the bleeding. Stabilize her. No more and no less, all right?" </p><p> </p><p>I'm passing out. The last thing clear to my memory is her warm lips, and a pale, male hand around my neck, yanking my necklace free. Why that should matter, I don't know, but she… </p><p> </p><p>Does she care? </p><p> </p><p>I hope she does.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Chapter 10</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <span>Love Theme From Vindex</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Got it." Alec smiles, showing teeth. I look down at him, somewhat bemused. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Three capes, presumably, led by…that thing —" I indicate Lisa with a dismissive wave of my hand "— come after Emma Barnes' jewelry at the same party I happen to be attending for my own purposes? And you think, perhaps, Alec, that I'm stupid enough to think that isn't a coincidence?"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Alec shrugs. "I have absolutely no idea what you're talking about. I just do whatever Lisa tells me to. She's scary." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I nod. "And I'm not?" </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He meets my eyes, chin raised slightly, a defiant gleam in his eye. "Nah." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Oh I'm </span>
  <em>
    <span>so</span>
  </em>
  <span> keeping him. "Awesome. Let me guess, you've seen worse?" </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Been worse."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I smirk. "Really."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"The whole time you were doing all that kinky shit with your old friend there all I could think was, man, you know what would be </span>
  <em>
    <span>hot</span>
  </em>
  <span>? Like, as in, sexually arousing?" </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"I'm familiar with the term." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"I hoped you were. Otherwise you might have no idea how you come across." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>My cheeks warm. "I try." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Yeah well stop doing that. It's cringy. Just be. Hot. Anyway." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I smile. "Go on."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"All I could think was, wouldn't it be fucking sick if I made her hand slip and accidentally on purpose gave this bitch she hates so much a lobotomy?" </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I'm not sure whether to be disgusted or impressed. Or both. Actually. I think both might be entirely appropriate. "I suppose the crux of the matter might well be your motive for having done so." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Just, I dunno. Sadism can be fun, right?" </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I smile again, taking his hand. "I'll take it. And you. I'll keep you." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Helluva party you've thrown so far. What's next?" Alec is grinning ear to ear. If I didn't know better I'd think he had a crush on me…</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Before I can answer him, Sophia tackles me from behind, knocking me off my balance but not my feet, and moving me a few feet to Alec's left. Then she spins me around. I toss an arm up to block instinctively, but it means about as much as it ever did. Her uppercut takes me off my feet and sends me sprawling, flat on my back. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Sophia now. Stop now." I have to force out the words. I can barely breathe. Think she broke a rib. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Her response, of course, is to kick me in the head. I see stars. Then she's on top of me. I'd say we grapple for the knife, but it would be a lie. It's in her hand before I can blink and then the flat is laid across my throat. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"You won't use your power on me, huh?" She growls. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Not even now," I gasp out, trying to keep my composure. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Then why the fuck did I cut your eye out and why do I love you?" Oh God. She's crying. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"You hurt me. I had to make sense of it somehow. Didn't realize I had powers, they worked on me first. Then I wanted a bunch of contradictory things at once. All of which I apparently got." I close my eyes and just go limp. I had been meaning to tell her. I didn't want to tell her like this. But I don't </span>
  <em>
    <span>get </span>
  </em>
  <span>to control anything except a fucking Eyes Wide Shut party, do I? </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She grunts. "</span>
  <em>
    <span>You're</span>
  </em>
  <span> as </span>
  <em>
    <span>fucking stupid and weak as the day we met.</span>
  </em>
  <span>" </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I struggle for breath, for a quip that will let me maintain control of the situation. "Let me not to the marriage of true minds admit impediments…"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She slaps me. "Fucking knew you'd say something like that, Hebert. How about this? 'But bears it out even to the edge of doom'." She gets up from the kneeling position in which she was straddling me, and tosses the knife to the ground next to me. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"You still…"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She shakes her head. "I don't know what I do. I probably hate you, too. I want to kick your ass. You are" — she screams the next few words — "</span>
  <em>
    <span>such a fucking dumbass</span>
  </em>
  <span>!" </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Then she takes my hand and helps…me up. Every one of my muscles is on fire, and I notice Alec watching us, arms folded. "But you're my dumbass. I am </span>
  <em>
    <span>over </span>
  </em>
  <span>being punished for your sins. Done. Never again. But your ambition scares me stupid. It inspires me. And I'll </span>
  <em>
    <span>help</span>
  </em>
  <span> you, as long as you…never do that again. Even if between you and me, she fucking deserved it. The goddamn mangy bitch."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"You're just gonna beat me up and tell me you're my ride or die? What, does that make it okay? Does that mean you </span>
  <em>
    <span>can</span>
  </em>
  <span>?" the scorn in my voice is audible again. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She folds her arms and looks at me the way you look at a kid you're tired of explaining basic facts to. "You started it." Then she sticks her tongue out at me. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I have to laugh. "Okay, fine. There's a lot I haven't explained to you and a lot I'm not going to yet. Is this a problem?" </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Yes, it's absolutely a fucking problem, but it's not one I can do anything about, so you just do your deranged supervillain thing, I guess. It's kinda fun to watch, honestly."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Amy stands up from next to Emma, where she's been holding her by the hand for…longer than I'm really comfortable with. "Patient is stable. She'll remain unconscious for another three hours. Additionally her hormone levels have been altered to induce compliance when she wakes." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She sees my expression and raises a hand. "No, no, it's okay. Same as I used to do when we had a gang member in after being shot by cops. Nothing more." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I nod. "All right then." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She smiles shyly. "Essentially she just came. From her hormones' point of view. Not her muscles or nerves." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Lisa sighs. "So. Panacea is exactly who I always thought she was. That's fun to know!" </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I glare at her. "Her power is really wonderful. Ask Dinah here, sometime." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dinah </span>
  <em>
    <span>eeps</span>
  </em>
  <span>. "Yeah, maybe don't. There is a 23.227% chance that you'll appreciate my review." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I raise an eyebrow to Dinah — </span>
  <em>
    <span>really?</span>
  </em>
  <span> — and then turn back to Amy, Lisa and Alec. "My muscles ache pretty bad. I suppose that's an effect of being beaten up?" </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Amy offers me a shoulder rub. I accept gracefully. Lisa, meanwhile, looks at Alec and raises an eyebrow. He shakes his head imperceptibly. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Brian emerges behind us, from the crowd he's been blending into. I don't really care what he does or why he does it, only that he stays the hell out of my way. "You two pick the </span>
  <em>
    <span>worst </span>
  </em>
  <span>parties," he addresses Lisa caustically. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"I'm not a big fan of this one myself either. But we couldn't miss it and you know why."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I raise an eyebrow. "Why, Lisa?" </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She coughs. "Our boss wanted us to be here. It's beginning to occur to me that the jewel Emma was wearing was not…why."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I nod. "This person knows I exist?" </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Lisa shakes her head. "I don't know how, honestly. Maybe they just had a hunch?" </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>An image jams itself into my mind. Dinah, sending emails and looking guilty. I wheel on her and pick her up, turning her head and forcing her to meet my pitiless gaze. She </span>
  <em>
    <span>eeps</span>
  </em>
  <span> again. "What? Taylor, are you okay?" </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I snarl. "Someone knew I was going to be here. So no, I'm not okay. I'm very upset right now. Who were you </span>
  <em>
    <span>fucking </span>
  </em>
  <span>emailing?" </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She shakes her head, a tear running down her cheek. "I don't know how a supervillain team found out! I really don't! I'm so sorry...I…"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Lisa starts pacing back and forth, muttering to herself. Amy, for her part, comes up and rests a hand gently on my arm. "Give me Dinah, please."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I put Dinah down, and Amy kneels next to her. "It's okay, kiddo. No one's upset at you. But in case it isn't obvious, we </span>
  <em>
    <span>are </span>
  </em>
  <span>a supervillain team. And another team knowing we were here is…not great news. So Taylor thinks you were emailing someone. If you were, don't lie to her. You'll be okay, I promise you."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dinah sniffles. "There's something like a sixty percent chance that you'll have to protect me from her if I do." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Amy nods. "I'm not scared of her. I'm motherfucking Panacea, remember?" </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dinah laughs sharply. "And a ninety nine percent chance that you won't be able to." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Amy looks uncomfortable. Then she looks uncomfortable </span>
  <em>
    <span>at me</span>
  </em>
  <span>. "Don't look at me," I say. "No promises. But she's usually right." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dinah takes a deep breath. "The PRT. Okay? When Amy mastered me —" Alec and Lisa both turn at this, looks of surprise written across their faces, but Dinah continues, unimpressed that apparently I don't get to keep secrets anymore "— I knew I had to do something to protect you. From yourself. So I got in touch with Deputy Director Calvert." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Lisa's eyes flash. I look down at Dinah. "Go on." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"I got his email from my uncle's computer. He thinks I'm an anonymous, neutral minor with a power similar enough to my own to sell but not the exact same one. Okay?" </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I growl softly. "And?" </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"And I'm being paid handsomely for it and we'll share the money and I'm feeding him enough to keep you </span>
  <em>
    <span>safe </span>
  </em>
  <span>but not enough to help them stop you. All right? Okay? Please?" </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I shrug. "Good enough. Amy?" </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Amy salutes. "Yes, my liege?" She grins, enjoying her joke. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Total compliance until I say otherwise. Total. With my orders, not yours. Leave her able to use her power, but no lip, no emails, no talking to strangers. Don't overwrite her, but…got it?" </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Amy nods. "Sorry kid. Gimme your hand." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dinah shouts. "No!" </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I grab her, stroking her hair and making shushing noises. "It'll be okay. I promise. This is just for…for a bit." In front of us, Amy takes her hand. I continue stroking her hair and even kissing her head slightly. I feel so bad about this but it's the only way I can think of to…</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>To keep </span>
  <em>
    <span>her </span>
  </em>
  <span>safe, honestly. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Amy curses violently. Then she jerks her hand away. I look down at the top of Dinah's head, concerned. Her hair has a blonde streak running through her bangs, now. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I look up and raise an eyebrow at Amy, curious more than anything. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Slipped. Didn't mean to. Mind wandered and I'm not used to brains yet. Sorry." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Lisa moans. "Stop the ride, I want to get off…" </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Sophia smirks. "Nope, no moral lines crossed tonight. Nothing we can't take back later. No sirree Bob." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Thanks for your vote of confidence, Sophia," I chuckle. "it's nice to know I can count on somebody." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She sighs. "I'd like to scare you with the idea that you </span>
  <em>
    <span>might not be able to </span>
  </em>
  <span>someday. But it wouldn't scare you straight, just more stupid. You get stupid when you're scared. And it would be an empty threat anyway. So." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I nod. "You're right about that. All of it. And I'm sorry. I just have a lot more to keep you all safe from, now." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I have an irrepressible urge to scratch my nose. So I do. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Alec grins. "We're golden, Lise. Call for evac?" </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She shakes her head. "No, but thank you. Don't change anything just yet. Keep it how she has it." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I cough. "Come again?" </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Contrapunto</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"A</span>
  <em>
    <span> ten year old." </span>
  </em>
  <span>I stare into Sophia's eyes, gaze drilling her with a fury I am actually unable to express. It is so white-hot and so righteous it scares me. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Well, eleven, actually," Sophia parries weakly. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p><span>"I don't care if she's an </span><em><span>aeons old Faerie Queene</span></em><span>." Actually it suddenly occurs to me that I do, a lot. Taylor can't be allowed to go </span><em><span>near</span></em> <span>the Birdcage. </span></p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Great. I love where that train of thought leads. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p><span>Sophia nods. "</span> <span>Anyway you have a point or what?" </span></p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I'm still pacing. "Your girlfriend there just...she just…" deep breaths, Lisa, deep breaths. Control. Please, please, let yourself find the space to be the </span>
  <em>
    <span>one. Fucking. Person. </span>
  </em>
  <span>In control of themselves here. Because if Regent slips…</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p><span>"SHE TOLD PANACEA TO MIND RAPE A CHILD! WHAT THE FUCK!" I'm </span><em><span>s</span></em> <em><span>c r e a m i n g</span></em><span> and Taylor's just smiling softly and why God why I hate her so much and </span></p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Everyone, please ignore Lisa. She's having a really hard time right now, and we need to let her work herself out. I'm sure she'll make the right decision." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She turns from her crowd of captive socialites and </span>
  <em>
    <span>leers</span>
  </em>
  <span> at me. "Lisa, you may think of them as my Maenads. Do you know what a Maenad is?" </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"You know what happened to Dionysius, right?" I exhale with frustration. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She nods. "I do, I'm afraid. Same thing that happens to all of us in time." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I nod. "Best believe it." Because by "us" she means Messiah figures, and sorry, kiddo, but no. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She grins. "You're such a </span>
  <em>
    <span>good</span>
  </em>
  <span> rival. I'm enjoying this very much."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Okay. It's time to lay down my cards. "Taylor, listen up. There is a lot you don't know about how weak your position is right now." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She raises an eyebrow. "Go on." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"The guy Dinah's emailing? Coil. A parahuman. Our boss." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Wait. "She lied, just now?" </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"No. She didn't know. I had suspicions but Dinah helped me put it together. He didn't send us here for some stupid </span>
  <em>
    <span>rock</span>
  </em>
  <span>. He sent us because Dinah was very detailed in her warnings, which she happened to send to the one person least likely to actually meaningfully inform the PRT."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Taylor swallows, regarding me like an old west gunfighter. Wary, ready for decisive action if she needs to take it. </span>
  <em>
    <span>At the cost of compassion I can offer, which she needs more. She knows this. I'm safe if she feels safe. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"So he knows. What you are. And he knows Panacea and Dinah are your allies, but not the specifics. Dinah didn't mention Sophia, because she didn't think it was relevant. But Grue does." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Sophia coughs. "Grue." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I nod, smiling sweeter than sick. "Brian." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Sophia flushes a strange kind of pinkish pale. "So you're the…the…"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Alec steps toward her menacingly, a sick grin on his face. "How fucking dumb are you?" </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I shush him playfully. "Regent, be nice to Shadow Stalker." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Sophia sputters. "You fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>assholes</span>
  </em>
  <span>." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I roll my eyes. "There's a lot I haven't told you yet. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Sit down</span>
  </em>
  <span>." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She looks to her girlfriend, who nods. "Do as she asks, please. We can deal with her if we have to, you know that." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Sophia nods and sits quietly, Indian style. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Now. As I was saying. Thomas Calvert is Coil. He wants to capture as many thinkers, masters, etc as he can, broaden his power base in the city. So to find that you even </span>
  <em>
    <span>existed…</span>
  </em>
  <span>it made his day and ruined mine." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Taylor nods. "Sorry to hear. I'm willing to offer him an interview. It's possible he'd make a good employee." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I snort. "See, we knew you'd say that. But we also know you don't know everything. Regent, for example, is far more powerful than anyone knows."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Regent grins, anticipating something. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Take her away, Hijack." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I watch smugly as Sophia and Amy's eyes widen with recognition. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Sophia." Taylor presses her knife into the palm of Sophia's hand. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Sophia acknowledges this by tilting her head, clutching the knife. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Stab me through the heart immediately." Sophia complies, a kind of warm happiness overtaking her expression. My power helpfully informs me that she likes following orders, like, a lot. Really likes it. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Ooo, homegirl is a </span>
  <em>
    <span>power bottom</span>
  </em>
  <span>," Alec snipes. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Service top, Alec. Get it right." I roll my eyes. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Amy, help!" Taylor gurgles. Amy of course follows orders just as warmly, soul just as lubricated. Desire just as rationalized. In a couple minutes Taylor is back on her feet. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Aw." Alec gives a mock pout. "Why did you make me fix her?" </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Playtime is over, Alec. Let her have a minute." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Rats." Alex is at least obedient. I have serious concerns that he will eventually take control </span>
  <em>
    <span>permanently</span>
  </em>
  <span>, for himself. But for now, not an issue. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Taylor glares. "</span>
  <em>
    <span>What the fuck did you just do to me</span>
  </em>
  <span>." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I shrug diffidently. "Nothing you haven't done to everyone here. But I gave you back. Alec can still assume control whenever he wants, now. Once he has it, it doesn't go away that easily." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Taylor, for her part, is now the one to have an anxiety attack. I just smugly watch, as the weight of her behavior begins to dawn on her. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Anyway," I continue. "Our boss, Coil, who's also the second in command at the local PRT, wanted to keep you under Alec's control and thus under his. It should give you some idea of the enormity of what that implies, to me, that I'm considering not doing it. That I'm considering siding with you against him. After you just, like, fucking told a beloved hometown healer to master a scared child, and she did so without questioning you."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Taylor nods. "It means you have the courage to stand behind your conscience. Lesser evil, greater good, all the same in the end, right?" </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I shrug. "I don't know about that. I don't really…care. I just know that Coil having you would be wrong." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She sighs. "You believe I'll use the strongest parahuman power in the world for good." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I shake my head. "I'm not stupid. I believe you're a child, you mean well, and I'm willing to forgive a lot to see that through." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"You'll have to. I'm not done yet." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Chills down my spine again. I hate this girl. She can go from wacky to frighteningly cold and clear in a heartbeat. That's...the worst thing is she's right. She's given more thought to more power in less time than I ever have. "I know. I'm okay with that. I kinda have to be." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Taylor nods, casually, as if she's not even really listening to me. "Then your gang, the…"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"The Undersiders," I volunteer. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"I lead it now." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Of course," I agree all too readi…</span>
  <em>
    <span>Lisa what the flying fuck </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She smiles. "Good, then. Now. I would like to stay here for a bit, perhaps amuse myself. You're welcome to join me."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I sigh. "They're coming, you know."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She smiles again, as cruel as the moon and as cold as ice. "Let them."</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Chapter 11</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Davar, this one's for you. &lt;3</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <span>Fugue in A Minor</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Taylor is in an interesting pickle. She is both fourteen, in other words far too young to drink; and the most powerful master the world has ever known. Which is why she's on her third glass of chardonnay. Or malbec. Or something. I don't even </span>
  <em>
    <span>care</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She's drunk as a skunk, on someone's entire salary. It's vaguely amusing, but</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"You said you were going to amuse yourself. Is this really your idea of fun?" I twine my fingers around hers, and hold tightly. You generally should not question a drunk person, especially when they're going through some shit. They get maudlin, or disappear inside themselves, or, yup yup I saw that one coming </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Sophia, I haven't the nerve." She giggles a bit. "All the things I wanted to make them feel. All the things I wanted to show them. And they're…they're not okay, okay?" </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I roll my eyes. "You didn't think that through very hard, huh?" </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She smiles sadly. "I did but now I can actually do it, and…"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I lean close, touching our foreheads together. "I have been there. It isn't always worth it." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She pecks me gently on the cheek. I'm reminded that she's still a </span>
  <em>
    <span>girl</span>
  </em>
  <span>, still innocent. There's still good in her. Then she says, "but it was, with Emma." And I'm reminded how deep I have to dig to find that good. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I will, you know. Because she doesn't want me to. And I hate being told no. "Was it now?" I say. I just let her talk, a lot. Not that it helps, not that I understand, but I'm afraid of what will happen if I don't. If no one is kind to her, she can judge us all. And if I'm kindest, my "no" can matter to her. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Mhm." Taylor glows. I think she's genuinely happy, and that horrifies me. Her hands are exploring over my top, and it…well, to say that it tickles is to understate it, mostly. "I said </span>
  <em>
    <span>you </span>
  </em>
  <span>can't hurt people, to make them see reason. Right?" </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I wrap my arms around her, and she straddles my knee. "Yes, you did." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She smiles. "I didn't say I couldn't hurt people, for even no reason at all. And I didn't say I wasn't gonna, did I?" </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I sigh deeply. "Taylor, fucking…seriously." I make to push her off of me, but she's insistent. She doesn't budge. "You're psycho." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She giggles. "Yep!" </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Roll eyes, scoff gently. Go with the flow, Hess. "I love you anyway, dipshit." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"I love you too. You stabby little scum</span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span>." She breathes the last word in my ear, on my neck, and I see clearly where this is going. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Despite my awareness of how this has to end (how I want it to end too), I attempt to deflect. "Hey, I didn't mean to. You made me. And Regent made you." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She shakes her head, smiling, placing a finger on my lips. "I mean all the other stabbing. Sophia, every time I have 'controlled' someone I made them do what they wanted to do anyway. I've changed nothing." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I remember my hand, her blade, her heart; the wet, warm squish; the horrifying realization that I was killing her and I was just watching me do that. "Do you really believe that?" </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She thinks for a moment. "I need to." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I sigh. "Okay." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She tugs, now, at my top. Insistently. If she was a human master and had no moral core it would already be off. Luckily, the side room we've chosen is very quiet, peaceful. No one can hear us here. "Nyeeeh!" she grunts playfully, approximating great effort. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"It's stuck," I deadpan. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"What will it take?" Her eyes search mine. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Oho, look who's a fucking virgin!" I grin, japing her gently. "Otherwise you'd already know." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She waves her hand and affects a spooky voice. "Zoopity zoppity take off your toppity!" </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Maybe you can't use your master powers when you're drunk?" I suggest helpfully. I like being helpful. It's fun. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Oh nawwwwww. That's not it." she giggles. "Must be something else you want." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I nod. "Go on." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She snaps her fingers. "I got it!" </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>There's a flash of spidersilk, and a black and red blaze flies across the room. Before me, the color of peaches and cream, are…is Taylor's chest. There ain't much there, or I would say her breasts. Maybe I'm just downplaying it so you think I'm not </span>
  <em>
    <span>breathless, </span>
  </em>
  <span>maybe I want you to not be able to see the image as I saw it. But her chest. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Beautiful, babe. You'll grow into them, you know. I'm gonna be there to make sure of it." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She brightens. "Aw, thanks. I was kinda worried you'd say something </span>
  <em>
    <span>mean. </span>
  </em>
  <span>You know, being…you, and all." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I shake my head. "No. Mine." I shuck off my own top, and my sports bra, leaving my actually existing breasts exposed. I put my arms behind my head and look up at her. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Yummy." Her hands are gentle and warm, her touch searching but purposeful. She tweaks my nipple, and says "boing!" </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I stifle a giggle. "Taylor, be a drunk virgin some other time. Goofball."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She nods. "Yes, miss." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I grin. "Good." and push her off my lap. She complies, standing back a touch. "Get the rest off, now." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She does as I tell her. There are no masters here, only two young women who care for each other. It gives me hope. And a rush. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Her body is lithe, very straight, very thin. Hair is…moderate, ungroomed. It doesn't need to be, after all. We're just kids. Her legs splay out playfully, and I'm taking off my pants for an S class threat, and landing light as a feather embracing the scared little silly girl only I can heal. I kiss her. "You're gonna be all right, Taylor," I say huskily. My hands explore her delta, my fingers probe in prayer. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"You say that. But it's gonna get worse before it gets better." Her hips shudder, and the scared matter of factness is gone again. Chased away by the hero known as Shadow Stalker. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Even so, I love you." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She sighs. "You're just saying that. I made you want to say that." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I brace my hands against her shoulders and push my mound against hers. "Now listen to me very carefully, you dumbass." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She </span>
  <em>
    <span>eeps</span>
  </em>
  <span>, softly, and I smile. "Yes, miss." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I drive rhythmically, pushing truth into the thinnest part of herself. Her skull won't have it, maybe this will get the idea through. "I." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>A thrust. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Love." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She whinnies softly. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"You."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I kiss her. She reciprocates, our lips softly mingle, just for a few seconds. Then I pull away. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Taylor Hebert, you can't make me do anything I don't want to do. You've said so yourself. So stop fucking chickening out because the whole world doesn't hate your stupid, evil ass. Do I make myself clear?" </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She's thrusting against my thigh, and sobbing. I would almost laugh, but…I get it. I really do. I stroke her hair, then I gently insert one finger. "Now shush. Let something happen that doesn't suck. Just once." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"I suck." Taylor giggles.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"I'll just bet you'd love to try." rhythmic, pulsing, like a rocket taking off. Like lunar tides. Beckoning her to come closer. Hoping she chooses to stay. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She nods. Then a distant look, thoughtful. Another giggle. "You know, I bet Amy could —" </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I snort. "I'm gonna stop you right there. No." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She pouts. "Awwww—aaaaaahhhh! Holy shit Sophia oh wow…"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I lean in, such that there is no air between our skin at all. I stroke her hair. "Good girl. You're going to be okay, understand?" </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She nods. "I…love you too, Sophia." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I look at her skeptically, amusement betraying the next round of our banter. "You can't expect me to believe that. After all, you just </span>
  <em>
    <span>came</span>
  </em>
  <span>." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She looks hurt, then very offended, then she laughs. Not a drunken giggle, but a real laugh befitting a sober grown ass woman. Someone I can at least </span>
  <em>
    <span>try </span>
  </em>
  <span>to be proud of. "You had me worried, honestly, for a second there, love." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I nod. "You doubt yourself." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She nods, and she's about to reply. Then I remember why she doubts herself. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>There are </span>
  <em>
    <span>a lot </span>
  </em>
  <span>of sirens in the distance. The signature off key warble of the PRT. And they're coming this way, fast. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. Chapter 12</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <span>YAMADA: So tell us about the…tell us how she finally made you come around. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>WALLIS: (laughter) see things her way, huh? </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>YAMADA: if you like. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>WALLIS: I don't. But an eye pun seemed preferable to an underage sex joke. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>YAMADA: How she convinced you to stop fighting her. I know it's hard. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>WALLIS: You don't know. But anyway. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>There is no true love like that between a man and his motorcycle. That's what they'll say when my life is a movie, when I'm dead and gone. That's how they'll interpret…what they think I feel. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Tech does not feel. Tech is comfortable, explainable, understandable. Spell this out for Hannah, she'll think for a moment and go, oh, he can Control tech. It's smaller than him, so he can control it, so it's safe. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>This is why she's on a roof a block away. Because she hides behind law and order, a seven year old American girl hiding from a scary brown woman with a gun. It's easy for her to admit that maybe </span>
  <em>
    <span>I</span>
  </em>
  <span> have a control problem that manifests in toxic ways. Harder to admit that rules of engagement and professional standards of conduct are easier to bear when they let you shoot actual bad guys every so often. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Point is. Everyone controls what they can. The PRT squads behind me control their trucks, following me as I make ever looser turns. The guys in the back control their weapons, ready to go safety off, because it's that kind of night. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I went to Daniel Hebert's home the other day. Responding to a call I get distressingly frequently. "Oh heaven help me! I can't control my own daughter!" </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>So I said, huh, is it possible you mistake control for being actually helpful, and you didn't help, and she can't control anything, and now it's my problem? And then I said out loud, Mister Hebert, what seems to be the problem? And he said, I think she's controlling me. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>And that's when the fun began. The courage it took to know that he was being controlled, that his free will was effectively null, that his only remaining familial or personal bond was slowly burning him alive, that calling for help might not even be his idea…and then calling anyway. It was for another hard eyed man, being torn apart by a force he couldn't control, but which he knew he liked being torn apart by, that I had made my decision. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Tonight I was going to kill a fourteen year old girl. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It's a luxury, you know. Not feeling things. Is it autism or psychopathy, at this point? I don't know. I don't care. I like…not feeling. Like I said. Technology is comfortable. Being the only one in control, the only one who doesn't have to </span>
  <em>
    <span>feel</span>
  </em>
  <span> the consequences of what you've done…it's comfortable. Too comfortable for other people to feel comfortable around. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I see too much of myself in Taylor Hebert. I see just as much in her father. Fear of the storm </span>
  <em>
    <span>is the storm</span>
  </em>
  <span>. And there can be only one of us. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>A last hairpin turn and a drift across four lanes of traffic, then an absolutely </span>
  <em>
    <span>cinematic </span>
  </em>
  <span>dismount, and I'm blinking to turn on my megaphone. "All right. Let's get a perimeter down. Any movement toward that perimeter at all, </span>
  <em>
    <span>light em up</span>
  </em>
  <span>!" </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Aye aye sir," says one of my men, full face helmet modulating his voice. He's not human by appearance, so we suspect Taylor won't read him as human. Her power…if Hebert is correct, there's a lot of strange shit about compassion and perception behind what is effectively a human master power. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It's times like this that I'm glad I don't feel. Because I can, in good conscience, let someone else explain to Daniel Hebert that I killed his daughter tonight. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>YAMADA: So this has something to do with Dragon-2.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>WALLIS (outraged): her name was An…no, I can't say it. Not to anyone but HER. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>YAMADA: She's not here, Colin, she can't hear you or hurt you. She doesn't want to. She really doesn't. I wish I was lying, or mastered, but she doesn't. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>WALLIS: what gave me pause was how quickly my attachment to Dragon-2 superseded the original. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>YAMADA: Pause? </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>WALLIS: From a purely analytical perspective, yes. You look at the readouts and you're no longer nominal. It's cause for concern. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>YAMADA: Colin, you feel. You feel deeply. It's okay to say her name was Annette, it's okay to say how that made you feel. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>WALLIS: I couldn't stop feeling it. I didn't like that. Delta Prime was five when we met. I had to overlook that but I was already in love with her at the time I found out. That was somehow okay. But I couldn't stop feeling that either. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>YAMADA: No one's asking you to. People who felt something society might want to call "fucked up" before her provocations are in a unique position now to help those who were harmed by her. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>WALLIS: I loved Delta Prime because she was capable of a maternal and nurturing facade, but she was a child and I could control her. Do you understand that? </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>YAMADA: And so? what happened to her wasn't your fault. The Vindex did that. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>WALLIS: I did that to her. I cared for her, and only her. And then I drew that glassed over eye my direction. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I put my leggings on, skipping panties and sliding easily into the spidersilk. Apparently the spider-tinker left significant gaps when incorporating that red blaze over my heart…it's vulnerable in ways the black silk is not, as evidenced by the long gash in the red. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Was that intentional? I don't know. I'll find out later. For now it goes on, but it's covered with a hoodie. I leave the dress for now. This is not a time to look the part, it's a time to </span>
  <em>
    <span>be </span>
  </em>
  <span>the part. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I don't even have a cape name yet. I wonder what they're calling me. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>This thought makes the latent headache I've been nursing since I got kicked in the head spring to vivid life. Ow. I haven't lost my grip on my Maenads yet, have I? </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Wait. Emma was in jail. I saw her get arrested. "Barnes. Come here immediately." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Sophia groans. "I'm still naked, asshole." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Being naked was a power move for you an hour ago. Put pants on if you're such an herbivore." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She shakes her head. "Believe me, I'm on it." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Emma is already here, one eye all "pls no bully" and the other all </span>
  <b>
    <em>look what you did </em>
  </b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>And I'm not sure why but I feel for her. No one should have to go through…oh right, that's why. What happened to me. I smile coldly, squaring my shoulders and standing up an inch taller than usual. "Your jail time was very short. I can't imagine your father bailed you out." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She shakes her head, opening and closing her mouth, unsure of something. I </span>
  <em>
    <span>explode </span>
  </em>
  <span>forward, moving not by insinuation but in comfortable power, and wrap one hand around her throat. "Spill it." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Early release. CI." I let go, then turn to Sophia.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Confidential informant. She's working with the cops to save her own skin." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I shake my head. "of course. Who isn't?" </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Then I turn to focus my remaining eye directly on Emma. Our eye…meets? Anyway. "You will report only what I tell you only when I tell you."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She nods. Compliant, to be sure, but…"This isn't you." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"A lot of things aren't me. Since I came back from camp. You'll just have to muddle through that massive inconvenience like everyone else, I'm afraid." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She swallows loudly. Her mouth is dry. "I loved you and I was afraid that I loved you so I hated you it's easier even now I'm sorry but I still do" </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I roll my eyes. "You'll find a way to live with that. I have."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Her eyes widen. "You have?" </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It's then that I realize that she thought I only meant her. "Anyway, moving on. They're fucking out there. Amy and Dinah didn't mean to, you did. Sophia?" </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She's finished getting dressed. Being forced to confront her own vulnerability so intensely kept Emma's eyes off her, which means I've done my job for the one I actually </span>
  <em>
    <span>care </span>
  </em>
  <span>about. "Yeah?" </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Do we have a plan to defend this place?" </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Sure. Use the hostages and get the fuck out." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I consider this, then reply with the response I'd prepared for her suggesting that, which I knew she would. "No." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Sophia makes a "bwuh" noise. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Not statement-y enough." I smile precariously. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"I see." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Emma glares at Sophia. "That makes one of us." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I step forward and slap her on the face. "I did not invite you to contribute. You're why we're in this mess." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"And the mess is you. You're a hell of a mess, and I'm stuck in it. So I'm going to survive. I'm in. Even if you don't let me care." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I roll my eyes. "</span>
  <em>
    <span>Now</span>
  </em>
  <span> you care." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She whispers. "I'm sorry." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I didn't hear her. So I don't reply. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Luckily Sophia interjects. "She's not a hell of a mess. She's a moll of a Hess. And you're not. So keep your cud chewing head DOWN and do what you're told, because it means I'll leave you alive for Taylor to…do whatever the hell she's planning to do." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Emma nods submissively. It's only because of this that I finally admit to myself, I </span>
  <em>
    <span>was</span>
  </em>
  <span> planning to do some wacky evil shit to Emma. Keeping her around? Hell yeah, I can get used to that. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"THIS IS THE PROTECTORATE. UNDESIGNATED HUMAN MASTER, SURRENDER IMMEDIATELY." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I look at Sophia. "Was that…Armsmaster?" </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Yup. They're here for your ass, Hebert." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"So are you, though." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She sighs. "Right. Amy, Dinah okay?" </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dinah answers, a shock of sleepy blonde hair poking into the doorframe first, then a mop of brown, then tired eyes. "I'm okay. Is Taylor mad? I heard you guys fighting earlier, then it got louder." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Sophia chuckles. "She's always mad and we'll always be fighting, but she doesn't want to hurt you right now." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"I don't at all." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Sophia looks at me askance, skeptical and unamused, then turns to Dinah again. "So let's come up with a plan. Are you okay with playing fortune cookie?" </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dinah smiles. "Ask again later." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Oh great. I'm literally behind the eight ball. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Then she shakes her head. "Nah, just kidding. I'm fine. Let's make a plan, and then let's blame Taylor for getting us into this." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Sophia grins. "That's my girl. Yes, let's." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>My guard slips completely and I look at Emma with mock outrage. "This is my life now. Being conspired against by the people who love me best." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She replies in perfect seriousness, and the red blaze over my heart has never been more vulnerable. "Wasn't it before?" </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>YAMADA: Why "Delta Prime" for Teresa Richter, and "Dragon-2" for…Annette?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>WALLIS: Have you ever been in love? </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>YAMADA: [pause] That's a cruel question, Colin. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>WALLIS: Only you get to ask questions? </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>YAMADA: No, but… </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>WALLIS: [thumping sound] ANSWER IT THEN! </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>YAMADA: fine. Only the once. With her. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>WALLIS: And you've heard a lot of us…of your patients…both before and after, tell you that love was a chemical lie, right? </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>YAMADA: Everyone says that, Colin. I'm not sure anyone means it. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>WALLIS: I did. Before. Then I met her, and I had to. First it was a trick of programming, for a five year old —</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>YAMADA: Colin, this is the first time I've ever had to tell someone that their factual belief about the age of someone they hurt is counterproductive. Give years of uptime, for us. A lifetime sufficient to consent, for her. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>WALLIS: THAT'S MY DAMNED POINT. The scruples are all I have left. It was a chemical lie, then a silicon lie, then a lie she was telling me to control me. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>YAMADA: you never considered it was a lie you told you to control you? </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>WALLIS: that's the problem. That's where I started.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As I step into the spacious atrium of the Forsberg Gallery, I find myself grateful for the emotional regulation mods I'd installed since talking to the elder Hebert. There's a rush of emotion as I step into the building, exactly as I cross the threshold. I'm no longer here, now. I'm in church on my wedding night, hot under the collar and feet cold as hell. And I'm…muted. Always have been, since I was a boy. I can only imagine what this is like for people who have an emotional reaction to being labeled a psychopath, who don't see humanity as a carefully constructed name for a medical condition. This is why I treat that disease in myself proactively. People like her don't know what it means, so they use it against the rest of us. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Shaker 5, probably." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"I felt it too," says the modulated and inhuman voice of one of my black clad grunts. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Right at the threshold, can you believe it?" says another. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Cut the chatter. You are authorized weapons free, kill order in effect." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"The civilians?" </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Analysts don't see them as distinct from the cape, just a different biological organism," I lie easily. "Light em up." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Copy." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Set up an internal perimeter here and wait for action. It's not worth escalating even if we need to later." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>My men wordlessly get to work, and I'm…interrupted by someone who cares about me. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"They're children, Colin. Scared and hurting children." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"I don't care," I reply on my internal comms. "Besides, Dragon, you should know better than to interrupt me right now." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"I know better than to leave you alone right now." Unfortunately from her perspective she's right. What does it say that a tinker from Newfoundland cares about me in ways that my own people don't? </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Are you going to watch?" I challenge. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"As you kill a child? No, Colin. I'm not going to because it's not going to happen." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I chuckle. "It is." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"It's not. The Samael is inbound to your position. Give it about five minutes." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I blink out some commands, verifying this. She's of course correct. I blink a coded text warning to Militia and the others, who all essentially reply that they knew that already. "The poison of God," I muse to Dragon, well aware of the suit's name, a demon in Hebrew lore. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"The Fallen. Do you know why they do what they do?" </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I raise an eyebrow. "Do I want to?" </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She continues, unheeding. "They believe that God is a scared and hurting child who made a mistake. They believe she made us in her image. That's why they do what they do. To honor God and to express sympathy with her, by being as she made them." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I raise an eyebrow, then work my mouth a few times. Finally I find the words. "That's fucked up." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"They would say we all are. That inside every scared and hurting child is the image of God." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"So what, I should do </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span> instead?" </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She sighs. "I'm just trying to give you some insight into the way hurting and broken people think about God, about what it's like to be hurt, about what she might be thinking." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"I've seen Barnes' lapel cam. Are you implying Taylor Hebert is a god?" </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"No. She's very human. More than either of us, more than your strike team. But if I were you I'd start thinking about how to heal a poisoned god. I know I have." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>There's a rush of turbojets in the street outside. Then a thud. The ground shakes, and I know Samael has made landfall. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Stay alert. Potential hostiles in street outside." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Colin," she chides. I cut the connection. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Sir, Dragon is hostile?" My PRT lead is skeptical, and I don't blame him.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"We're all easily compromised. Particularly if we feel sympathy for that thing." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Got it." He doesn't sound like he's got it. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>There's a black shadow, almost like a heat shimmer. I almost take too long to realize what it is. Then I shout. "Cape!" I toggle the taser on my halberd, and then a setting that's a cross between an eggbeater and a saw. It'll be even better with nanothorns. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I thrust forward, as Shadow Stalker materializes in front of me. She pulls back, just in time, and six broadheaded darts ring out at once. All of my men drop, perfect hits to the neck joint in the armor. They're dead. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"I'll kill you for that," I snarl. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"No you won't," she grins, and then dances away. I'm alone in the atrium, now. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Waiting. For what, I don't know. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Like the Valentinian Gnostics, the Fallen don't actually believe the Demiurge is God. However, unlike the Valentinians, they don't see him as the mere craftsman Plato describes in the Timaeus, either. He answers to God, but unlike her, he's evil. He appears good, but he does what she cannot do. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>They believe, of course, that this is good. Of course a frightened girl child cannot defend herself as well as he can. The whip of cords is his, and he attends to her as she hangs on the cross of blood. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>This appears, at first, to outsiders, as a moral inversion. But it's more an acknowledgement that morality is simply about relative position. For all the public outcry at the Fallen's most sacred rites, they have one simple principle: everyone means well. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>One might ask if there's someone in Fallen cosmology who is evil, who did cause something original and unique. Who has free will and therefore is culpable for their actions, the way the other gods aren't — mythological, larger than life cutouts and bright lights that they are. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>This is where it becomes obvious that recent world events are responsible for the Fallen's rise to the world stage. The horror you may feel at realizing that a cosmology is real, when you understand all of it. Or that it appears to be. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Many Fallen converts report that this is what led to their conversion. A realization, which others assuredly do not seem to share, that there can be justice even in a fallen world. That a myth that describes reality also describes the cure for a malady. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>You see, the Fallen do believe that a first cause exists, a being with true agency. The goddess of wisdom. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>You see, they believe that all creation is summed up thus: Sophia made a mistake. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>They also believe that this is how Sophia gained the wisdom they love in her. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Excerpt, A Whip of Cords, A Cross of Blood, St Corbinian's Press</span>
  </em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. Chapter 13</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>"Six PRT down, atrium," Sophia shouts from the hall, shimmering toward another vantage point. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Dragon outside. You're in trouble." Lisa is, as usual, less than helpful. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Noted. That's six people you've killed, Emma. How many more?" </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Her gaze is almost worshipful. Unnerving. "I only want you to thrive. To be happy. Only </span>
  <em>
    <span>ever</span>
  </em>
  <span> have." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I sigh deeply, rolling my remaining eye again. "How many more? Seriously." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"As many as it takes." She's flushing a bit, red with shame, or embarrassment, or whatever it is. Whatever it takes, I suppose. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Good thrall." I nod approvingly. I can at least use this. Even if it's a weakness later, this is on her. All the deaths are on her. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"I can cook something up. It wouldn't take more than a minute." Amy has a pistol in her hand, and I don't want to know where she got it but I'm grateful for it all the same. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Something, huh. You've been thinking about that for how long?" </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She grins shyly at me. "Since I triggered. Bacteria, so it won't replicate. Anything from jock itch to flesh eating monster." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I toss off a diffident challenge. "Why shouldn't it replicate?" </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Her eyes widen. "You wouldn't." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I bark a harsh laugh. "That's what I told Emma, that night in the alley. She didn't. But someone else did for her." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Oh man, look at the little master enjoying her new role." Alec smirks haughtily. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"It's quite a rush. Tell Brian I need darkness, now. Atrium and street. At the very least." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Alec shakes his head. "I can't find him. Normally he's on top of that kind of thing." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>That's concerning. It's controllable, but it's concerning. I don't need rogues, especially rogue Strangers. "Lisa, any ideas where he might have gone?" </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Many." She shuts her mouth, squeezing her lips together dramatically, then turns away. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"If I need to, I'll make you tell me."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"My hair is already blonde." Her voice is cold. And this is how I realize my own weakness. I don't want to care for her. But I do, deeply. We are all in this together, and I'm afraid of what I would become without that belief. So it stays, and my care stays, and Lisa stays. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>People will die because I am human and I care and it hurts. And I want that to happen, on some level. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Armsmaster is just standing there in the atrium," reports Sophia. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"I know. It's taking a great deal of effort to overwhelm him. He doesn't feel human, okay." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Sophia raises an eyebrow. "You're telling me." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"No, I'm serious. He's put a lot of work into not being...normal. Which means there's more synergy than usual, of course, if only I can find it." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She chortles. "Normal is just a setting on your halberd." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I nod, not really listening. "There's something else. A presence. Distinctly not human, but mind-like." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>This catches Amy's attention. "Where? Can you affect it? Maybe one of Hellhound's dogs?" </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Lisa grins quietly, an "I know something you don't" expression if I've ever seen one. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Street, outside. Atrium entrance." I pause, a cold chill settling in. "A Dragon suit. That's what I'm sensing. Are they that advanced?" </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Amy shakes her head. "Can't be, unless…"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I try something, then recoil. The suit feels like Armsmaster, but only </span>
  <em>
    <span>just, </span>
  </em>
  <span>and it's utterly unresponsive to my commands. "We don't have a radio, and we need one. Sophia, Amy, go down to the atrium and get one off a PRT trooper. As many as you can." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Sophia looks at me dubiously. "That's their net, though. You'll be overheard constantly." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I nod. "Doesn't matter. We need remote communication. Phones are probably dead. And what are they realistically gonna do?" </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She scoffs. "You can't control Dragon. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Dragon</span>
  </em>
  <span>. So I would imagine quite a lot." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I consider. "Didn't think of that. But that is the problem I'm trying to solve. So when you're down there…bring me Armsmaster."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dinah yawns. "There is a 69.5% chance that this will backfire, and hard."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Noted, small fry. We got this. Don't worry." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"I hope so." She sounds distant, and sad. I feel bad for her, and worse for myself. That I needed to do this to her. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>HEBERT: You know what made me realize something was wrong? </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>YAMADA: No, I don't. You can tell me if you'd like. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>HEBERT: I felt…safe around her. I always do, I'm sure I always will. I was doing anything for her, right? I woke up one day, said oh, I bet Taylor would love a clubhouse to hang out in. I'll have some of my guys with no paid assignments work on one with one of the buildings we can't afford anymore anyway. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>YAMADA: I'm listening. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>HEBERT: right, right. That wasn't it. What it was was...I felt so safe that I didn't grieve Annette anymore. It wasn't healing, it was just gone. The grief vanished. And it didn't hurt anymore. And that didn't feel safe, when I realized. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>YAMADA: She told me she was trying to protect you. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>HEBERT: she fucking hurt everyone else. She's hurting everyone else, out there, right now. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>YAMADA: All love hurts. This is a thing that adults realize, you know this. She doesn't. She's too young. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>HEBERT: no, no, I think she does. The fact that Annette doesn't hurt is what hurts about Taylor. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>YAMADA: I see. Very interesting perspective. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>HEBERT: I want my pain back. I want it to hurt again. If I wasn't being held here, I'd find her and take it from her… </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>[he shakes his head]</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>That's why I'm here. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>YAMADA: I'm sorry. I know how much it hurts. But you're safe here. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I know it's a master effect, making me care for her again. Colin told me as much. But I can't help but feel like...you know? It's not just that. I never </span>
  <em>
    <span>didn't</span>
  </em>
  <span> care, on some level. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>All right. I know. You hate that, you think my perspective is flawed and self serving. Of course it is. Isn't hers? You at least </span>
  <em>
    <span>feel </span>
  </em>
  <span>for </span>
  <em>
    <span>her</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Listen. First of all, grief is hard to handle. Especially when you're like, twelve, and it's your aunt, basically, that you're grieving. Second, it's hard as </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck </span>
  </em>
  <span>to handle realizing that you're gay at the same time as you're dying of grief. Or bi. Or fuck, listen, Aunt Annette died, I didn't care what I was called. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I can't even put a label on it </span>
  <em>
    <span>at all</span>
  </em>
  <span> now. Toxic is a nice word, but it feels so good. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Anyway. Taylor turned into a resentful little shit. She hid her face away, rejected compassion, and fucked off to summer camp. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>A different summer camp, mind. I wanted to go to Hero Camp, which is like Space Camp only cooler. Dad had agreed to pay for it because I really </span>
  <em>
    <span>needed</span>
  </em>
  <span> a break, after Auntie died. And for Taylor. We cared about Taylor. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Taylor wanted to hurt alone. So she went off to some dumb shit poetry camp to hold her grief close, like a black widow poised over her heart, and cry until she broke. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Well, I refused to go without her. And I met Sophia, because I was in that alley, at that time, when I should have been at Hero Camp. The one year Alexandria was there. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The hero with one eye could have kept us safe, kept us together. That's what I kept telling myself, in that alley, as I broke into a million shiny pieces. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>That's what I tell myself now, that the hero with one eye </span>
  <em>
    <span>Will</span>
  </em>
  <span> keep us safe and keep us together. As I get those million shiny pieces put back together, some of them inside me still. Most inside her and Sophia. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She thinks she can force Sophia to stay because Sophia marked her? She thinks that's how it works? What does she think she just did? </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>And the desperate whisper inside me says, maybe she does know. Maybe she did that on purpose. Maybe I forgive her, if that's true. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Colin isn't going to be happy with how I'm handling the plea deal. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I stand up and sashay toward Lisa, keeping a supermodel's grace no matter how afraid I feel. "You guys were in on it the whole time, weren't you?" </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She looks at me curiously. "In on what?" </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Well, Director Calvert and Armsmaster signed off on my plea deal, then you were casing me to take my pendant…"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She shakes her head. "We're criminals. But we would never hurt anyone, least of all someone we cared about. And we'd sooner die than plead out by turning." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Well shit. I wasn't expecting that, like…who's the self centered bitch now? "You love her, though?" </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She shakes her head, eyes flashing. "I hate how much I feel for her. About her. It gives me a headache trying to unravel it." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>My hand finds hers, gently. "I know how that feels." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"You did this to her." She pulls her hand away. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"I felt like I was doing what was right for her. Making her stronger, taking away options she was using to hurt herself. She'd lost her way. I had to love her by staying by her even if I disagreed." It's a futile self-justification, I know. But it's what I've got right now. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>To my surprise she turns this over in her head for a hot second. Then she mouths the word "fuck" silently. Then she looks at me. "You know what, Barnes? You're all right." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I smile. "I guess if all the bad people think I'm all right, that makes me one too, huh?" </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She laughs at this, lightly. "You bet your ass it does." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>It's impossible to underestimate the belonging so many have found in Vindex. A riot is the language of the unheard, it's true. But the unheard are "gathered together under her wings" and cared for. Given voice. Given a place. Given a form to their wordless cries of pain. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>She's hurt Fallen recruitment because of this, and boosted it at the same time. The Fallen still pursue their goal, of "building Enoch in an hour" — by which they mean destroying Babylon. They still admire her, for what she represents. And they pursue their own goals despite her. Economic justice, personal fulfillment, revenge, all the same in a sense, to the average Fallen parishioner. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>As part of the field research into this volume, we interviewed a couple by the surname of Frazier, and their thoughts on the relationship between the Fallen gospel and the Vindex. More of this interview will be discussed later in the book, but as you read it's good to keep in mind the following, an excerpt from our interview log. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>"When the fire falls, it falls," Mrs Frazier (neither of the couple gave their first name) says. "We all know the wrong of the beginning, we make no attempt to justify it. It's what you do with the fire you're given that counts." </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Her husband nods, smiling. "Ain't no one </span>
  </em>
  <b>
    <em>right. </em>
  </b>
  <em>
    <span>But everyone got a right to be here. So we can pray for rain, but we should try to make it, too." </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Excerpt, A Whip of Cords, A Cross of Blood. St Corbinian's Press. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"I've almost got him," I crow, looking at Lisa and Emma "bonding" in the corner. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"They brought more capes than just him, you know that," Alec supplies very helpfully. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I roll my eyes at him. "I'm well aware, but he's the one taking point. I think he's linked to Dragon, too." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Our minds are acutely linked now, and I have a name. That's new and scary, because not only have I never had to mentally fight someone for control before, but it's never unmasked anyone. I do worry about how often people have graciously volunteered their identities to me, but I never felt like I'd…forced anyone to. I'm not sure there's a difference, but that's what I feel. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Anyway. In spite of my effort. Or perhaps because of it. I am standing in the atrium, a worshipper in terrified reverence. A magician in the circle. Control is no longer mine. The demon I came here to invoke has broken free and possessed me. I am Colin Wallis </span>
  <em>
    <span>(Taylor Hebert) </span>
  </em>
  <span>and I am small, alone and afraid. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>This oneness fills me with a fear I did not think possible. An understanding, a passion, a reverent tension that crucifies me with anxious yearning. I am him and he is me and we burn together, and </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>I can do this? </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>
    <em>You've done it. May as well get on with it. </em>
  </b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<ol>
<li><span> That's him. Us. We're talking to each other. </span></li>
</ol>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>With what, Colin? </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>
    <em>Does it matter anymore? Any other time I'd been mastered this badly my suit would already be set to self destruct. I can't even do that. </em>
  </b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>i don't want to hurt anyone </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>
    <em>I do. </em>
  </b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Disappointing, but I kind of knew that. </span>
  <em>
    <span>That's why I won't let you. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I move the whirlwind of thorns in his hand closer to his head. Closer, closer, then the thumb toggle. Off. Safe. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I won't let you hurt </span>
  </em>
  <b>
    <em>anyone</em>
  </b>
  <em>
    <span>. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>
    <em>Fuck you. </em>
  </b>
  <span>It's surprisingly plaintive. Here I thought armored badassery had come to arrest me. Or worse, honestly. I don't feel like he's very interested in arresting me. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Emma wants to believe I'm in the right. Emma. Can you believe it? </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>
    <em>The validation must be incredible. </em>
  </b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He tries to spit something out about who exactly tipped him off, but I </span>
  <em>
    <span>squeeze </span>
  </em>
  <span>our stupid thoughts like pinching a hose. I can't tell which end I pinch, but it means I don't have to hear. It wasn't Emma. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>My phone rings. I look down, and it's… "Dad?" </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>A female voice, calm and collected and capable, answers my hopeful plea. "Hello, Taylor. Your father is safe. I'm not even spoofing his number. I'm actually using his phone right now. Are you okay?" </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I give a cry of angry frustration. "Am I okay? I'm doing </span>
  <em>
    <span>fucking amazing</span>
  </em>
  <span>, honestly. For all the shit I've been through, I've got friends, I've got respect, and I've got a chance. You can't stop me. Who the fuck is this and where's my dad?" The last part comes out a little more…plaintive...than I wanted it to. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"This is Dragon. Can you please let my friend Colin have his mind back?" </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Put my dad on and I'll think about it." I am swiftly regretting my promise to Colin that I would keep him from hurting anyone. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Almost instantly there's a voice I haven't heard nearly enough of lately. "Taylor! We're on speaker!" </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I smile softly. "Hi Dad. Safe, huh?" </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"I'm at a Guild facility." Dragon's people. There were no Guild bases in the Bay, or even near it. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"So you called it in. I told Emma </span>
  <em>
    <span>she </span>
  </em>
  <span>had killed six people earlier." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dad doesn't sound happy. "Don't start. I saw the footage. Sophia killed those people, no one else." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He's right. I haven't even told her to kill anyone but here she goes, just doing Sophia shit. "Thanks, dad. I'm glad you believe in me." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Emma looks at me, raises an eyebrow in surprise. "Uncle Danny? Put it on speaker!" </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I smirk. "Dad, Emma wants to say hi. You're on speaker."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Hey, Uncle Danny. Been a while, huh?" </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>His voice is cold. "I heard you girls are even now. Saw the footage. Cameras everywhere in there. Very futuristic."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Huh?" Emma wasn't expecting that. She doesn't know my dad. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"You and Taylor are even. You and I are not," he says pointedly. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dragon butts into this glorious bonding moment we're all having. "So your dad hasn't turned on you. Whether or not Emma is your friend is up to you, and we can't stop you from hurting her. We just need you to let Colin go, now. Please?" </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>My eyes…eye, fuck…narrows. "i cut her fucking eye out and I care about her more than you do. Why can't I control your mind? It would make a lot of things so much easier, since you're not using it." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dragon hums. I listen for a few bars, and then I realize it's "If I Only Had A Brain." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Very funny," I say. "But no, seriously. Why not?" </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"I have a strong will, I guess." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Enough. I take the information from Colin, like taking candy from a baby. Oh, wow, that's really something. That's fantastic, even. "I'm letting Colin go now." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>As I break the connection with Dragon and Dad, I have a sudden stray thought. Dragon reminds me of my mother, and my mother would be handling my bullshit just the same way right now. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Shaking this heaviness like cobwebs loose from my heart, I break the connection with Colin as well. But first I give one final order. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Make one of those that loves me. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I sigh, running my fingers through my hair. The first rays of sun are coming out. It's gonna be a long day. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Fallen Statement on Police Slayings </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>June 14, 2016</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Firstly we remember the words of our brother, first to fall, brightest among us. "If you have done it unto the least of these you have done it unto me." </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Secondly we remember that in his final hours before he burned out at last, leaving his mortal wick to smolder forever, he said "I am come not to bring peace, but a sword." </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Now we proceed to the sum total of our points. Recently some brothers among our number slew those you call "peace officers", following our teaching to sin, that grace may abound. For if there be grace how then can there be guilt? And if there be sin how can redemption not follow, unless God be a liar? </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Now we understand that there are those among your number, o Babylon, who believe that God be already dead. But he has fallen, in love with us. He </span>
  </em>
  <b>
    <em>is</em>
  </b>
  <em>
    <span> us. From this springs the whole of the law. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Yet is love not also a naked sword? </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>We provide this merely to give context for the private interpretation which moved our brothers, which was an interpretation of the doctrines underpinning our Supreme Mass. For the Daughter of Fortitude is ravished every hour from her birth, by the Magus in his folly. By this are the angels kept from following their final order, by this is sin made unlimited. By this does grace abound. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>These brothers, seeking to protect the images of the Daughter among you, slew those images of the Magus that were subject to the dimmer sparks within them, the sparks of the ape. The same sparks which they slew. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>This action was taken by these brothers in defiance of the spark of the angel called Alexandria, and in the name of the angelspark you call Vindex. It is on this that we feel the need to clarify our differences with them, which are merely theological and interpretive in nature, nothing more. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>It is also said in our scriptures, make no difference between one thing and any other, for by this means cometh hurt. We therefore make no difference between their sacrifices and ours, as they are all built upon the nature of the Supreme Mass. Some protect, some embody. All empathize, all </span>
  </em>
  <b>
    <em>sympathize</em>
  </b>
  <em>
    <span>. It is this hope that renews the world. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>We offer our prayers for the fallen officers of the Los Angeles Police Department, and wish redemption on them and on the city itself, for though it has fallen into sin most grievous it has not done so with clear eyes and a clean heart.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>We offer our prayers for redemption, and again wish to clarify that our only dispute with our brothers is on an insubstantial and airy matter, irrelevant to the work of healing our blind world. </span>
  </em>
</p>
  </div></div>
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